


Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

by flaming_muse



Series: 24/7/365-'verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine go for a long weekend to the beach on their first vacation together without their daughter.</p><p>futurefic, no specific spoilers for season four</p><p>set in the same universe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/554318">“24/7/365,”</a> but all you need to know from that story to read this one is that it’s futurefic where Kurt and Blaine are grown and have a daughter, who is now a toddler; the very obvious title comes from lyrics to the Go-Go’s song “Vacation”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tradition of starting and ending each summer hiatus with a Glee fic on a summery theme, both as a way to bookend the hiatus and to cleanse my palate away from and back into canon. After season two I wrote hammock-related fic bookends. After season three I wrote sitting-outside-related fic bookends. This year I am writing vacation-related fics, and here is the first one. It was meant to be about five thousand words. It is, um, quite a bit longer. Oops?
> 
> Endless thanks, per usual, to Stoney, who cheered me on when this fic kept getting longer and longer with no end in sight. I didn't take her every suggestion - though now I am plagued by the thought of Blaine getting a hermit crab and Kurt decorating its shell, damn her - but she still made this fic so much better than it would have been. :)
> 
> Officially, this story is in the same 'verse as "24/7/365," my futurefic about Kurt and Blaine and the reality of having a baby, but you don't need to have read that one to read this one. You can if you want to, though! I'll wait. :D

_Thursday, 3:20 am:_

The bed rocks like a boat in a stormy sea, and Kurt blinks his eyes open as the covers tug across his shoulder, pulling the warmed sheets away and leaving much less pleasant, cool ones behind. He looks over to see Blaine collapsing face-first onto his pillow.

Kurt reaches out and rubs his hand soothingly over the curve of Blaine’s near shoulder. He glances at the clock and sees that Blaine’s been gone forty-five minutes taking care of Audrey. Part of him is sympathetic that Blaine’s been up for so long with her, since he needs his sleep, and part of him is just happy it wasn’t his turn this time. He’s so tired he feels like he could sink into the mattress and never get out again.

“Oh my god,” Blaine moans, the words soft but full of despair.

“You were gone a long time,” Kurt says, stroking down Blaine’s bare arm.

Blaine curls his arms up under the pillow and makes a wounded sound. “Oh my god,” he agrees, and Kurt’s sympathy grows even more. He knows Blaine’s just as tired as he is.

“She’s been having a lot of trouble getting back to sleep,” Kurt says thoughtfully. He can’t help it. His eyes might barely be open, but his mind is always spinning, even in the middle of the night. “I think it’s developmental.” He rolls toward his husband, getting his arm over Blaine’s back and quietly regaining some of his perfectly warmed sheets in the process. He buries his nose in Blaine’s sleep-messy hair. Blaine smells like himself - faint sweat and hair gel and soap and effervescent energy - but also a little bit like their daughter’s moisturizer and diaper cream. The wonderful scent makes Kurt’s eyelids droop even more. “I was up over an hour with her last night. And she still got up early. I was so out of it I got off at the wrong stop on the subway on the way to work.”

“Oh my god,” Blaine says around a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. He shifts his weight so that he’s more closely pressed against Kurt.

“I know,” Kurt tells him, stifling his own yawn and then letting out a long sigh. “But it’s officially Thursday, so that means tomorrow we’re going away. And _that_ means the day after that we can _sleep in_.”

“Oh my _god_.” Blaine says it like it’s an actual prayer of gratitude for being given the best gift in the world.

“I know,” Kurt says again. His voice cracks with his own desperate yearning. He nuzzles into Blaine’s hair again as his eyes close and Audrey snuffles a little over the monitor but doesn’t wake up. Yet. “Blaine, we’re almost there.”

 

_Thursday, 9 pm:_

Blaine squints against the light as he shuts the door and walks from Audrey’s finally, finally quiet room into the living room. Kurt has his open laptop and a sheaf of papers spread out over the coffee table, piles of Audrey’s clothes, toys, diapers, food, dishes, creams, and cleaning products laid out across the couch, and a small suitcase, their Marc Jacobs diaper bag, and a soft-sided cooler on the floor in front of it. His hair is a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it without paying attention to the product still holding it stiff, there’s a sticky-note clinging precariously to the elbow of his sweater, and a pen seems to have been forgotten where it is tucked behind his ear, since an identical one is also in Kurt’s hand.

Even despite the trouble Audrey gave him going down, with her needing to be picked up and soothed a half dozen times in the past hour, Blaine is pretty sure he got the better end of the parenting deal tonight.

“How are you doing?” he asks tentatively, staying near the doorway in case of explosion. A stressed Kurt is an unpredictable Kurt.

“How does it look like I’m doing?” Kurt asks. He doesn’t look up, just checks something from a paper against the screen of his laptop. He makes a satisfied noise and crosses out a line on the paper.

Blaine is pretty sure that’s a trick question. “You look very organized,” he offers.

“I’d better,” Kurt replies. He puts his hands on his hips and surveys the couch. “I think I have everything. I can’t believe it’s taken me two hours to get everything _together_ for Aud for us to go away for _three days_. And a bunch of it I can’t even gather until tomorrow, because we’ll need it in the morning.”

Blaine nods. He cracks his neck and stretches his arms, stiff from being stuck in Audrey’s glider for so long tonight. No matter how comfortable that chair is, after forty-five minutes it’s a torture device. “What can I do to help?”

Kurt turns away from the couch and sighs. “Nothing,” he says. “I’ll pack it all in the morning. I just need to do my bags now.”

“Okay.” Blaine looks longingly at the couch, which he would absolutely love to sprawl on and watch some mindless TV before falling into bed with Kurt, but since it’s covered with Audrey’s things in what is surely some sort of very important order to Kurt he knows he’s out of luck. “Do you want some company?”

“No, thank you,” Kurt says. He comes over and gives Blaine a quick, apologetic kiss. “I’ll be faster on my own.”

Blaine plucks the post-it from Kurt’s elbow and says, “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Kurt smiles at him, nods, and disappears down into the bedroom.

With a yawn, Blaine settles into the armchair beside the coffee table and grabs the remote. He has at least an hour and a half before the bed will be clear so he can go to sleep.

 

_Thursday, 9:30 pm:_

Kurt frowns down at the neatly packed bag on the end of the bed. He has to have forgotten something. What has he forgotten?

He ticks through his mental list: shirts, pants, his new summer suit, an assortment of ties, scarves, and accessories, four pairs of shoes, three hats, two sweaters, pajamas, underwear, socks, hair and skin products, toiletries and other personal items, books, phone charger, eye mask, sunscreen, even a bathing suit in case the weather is exceptionally warm and Blaine is exceptionally persuasive...

It’s all in there, all folded and rolled and ready to go.

He spins and looks inside of his closet. He doesn’t see anything obviously missing, though he does pull out and pack another shirt, since he knows Blaine loves what blue does to his eyes.

Kurt frowns for another minute more and then walks down the hall to the living room. Blaine is slumped in the chair, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he watches what looks like a documentary on the ocean.

“Do you need some help? Or want some company?” Blaine asks.

Shaking his head, Kurt says, “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

Blaine shuts off the television and drops the remote on the coffee table uncomfortably close to one of Kurt’s most important piles. “Your toothbrush? Sunscreen? Underwear?”

“Of course I didn’t forget underwear,” Kurt tells him.

“You say of course,” Blaine says, yawning and stretching his arms up over his head in a pretty if distracting show of his lovely muscles, “but one time when I was in middle school my mom forgot to pack underwear for me when I went to visit my grandparents.”

“I have underwear,” Kurt says, smiling at the story as well as the thought that tomorrow those muscles are all for him without threat of interruption. He barely remembers the idea of life without the threat of interruption. It sounds unbelievably wonderful.

Blaine pushes up from the chair and walks toward him, his own smile going steamy and knowing. “Are you sure? Because if you ask me you don’t _need_ it...”

Kurt laughs and says, “If I asked you, you’d say I didn’t need any clothes at all on this trip.”

“That’s not true.” Blaine reaches out and catches Kurt’s hand. “I’m definitely looking forward to that part of things, but I’m also looking forward to candlelit dinners with you, walks on the beach with you, and just getting to spend _time_ with _you_. I love Aud, you know I do, but I’m really looking forward to this trip.”

Kurt smiles into Blaine’s warm eyes and murmurs, “I am, too.” His heart feels so full. He can’t wait to have this time alone with his husband. It’s been so long that they’ve been able to steal more than a few hours without their daughter. He misses so desperately being able to be Kurt-the-man not Kurt-the-dad and spending time with Blaine-the-man instead of Blaine-the-dad, as much as he loves their life just as it is, too.

Blaine lifts his mouth up to Kurt’s, kissing him softly but with great promise, and Kurt’s pulse is racing like he’s been running by the time they pull away. His skin feels tight, his body alive and ready, and he wants to bury his fingers in Blaine’s hair and draw him in for more until he can barely breathe at all. But he can’t. Not now. He has so much to do.

Tomorrow they’re going away, though, and they’re going to be able to do that. They’re going to be able to do whatever they want. He just has to get there.

“Come help me pack,” he says to Blaine, towing him by the hand down the hall toward the bedroom.

When they get to the foot of the bed, Blaine takes in his neatly organized suitcase and says, reaching out to touch it with reverent fingers, “Wow.”

“What?” Kurt asks.

“You’re done already?”

Kurt goes through his mental list again and still doesn’t think he’s forgotten anything. Maybe he hasn’t. Is that possible? “I think so.”

“I feel like you used to take a long time to pack,” Blaine says, his brows furrowed. “And that you took a lot of stuff.”

“I thought so, too,” Kurt says wonderingly. It’s not like his bag isn’t filled to the brim, but in a way it’s all been so simple...

Blaine shakes his head and shrugs, reaching out to clasp Kurt’s hand again. He gives Kurt a wide, sunny smile. “I guess it’s all relative.”

Kurt lets out a little laugh, thinks of everything on the couch, and says, “I guess so.”

 

_Friday, 7:35 am_

“I’ll be home by noon. Twelve-thirty at the latest,” Kurt says, grabbing his portfolio from the kitchen table and patting the pocket of his devastatingly perfectly cut suit jacket for at least the eighth time to check for his phone. He looks harried but pulled together, as he does almost every morning. Blaine still isn’t sure how he manages it with Audrey’s always-messy fingers and so many sleepless nights. But then Kurt’s always seemed at least a little magical to him.

“I hope your presentation goes well,” Blaine tells him, setting another few halved grapes on Audrey’s plate resting on the tray of her high chair.

Kurt smiles at him and smooths his fingers through Audrey’s fair hair before leaning down to give Blaine a quick, toothpaste-flavored kiss. “Thank you. I put your new blazer in the bathroom to steam the wrinkles out. You’ll be ready to go at one-forty-five to catch the train?”

Blaine nods and yawns behind his hand. “I will be. I just need to pack.”

Tilting his head and giving Blaine a worried look, Kurt asks, “Do you want some more coffee? I can make it for you before I go; you’ve got your hands full.” He takes a step toward the machine.

“I can get it,” Blaine says, waving away the offer. Audrey’s fine, his first two cups have given him enough energy to make a third, and he really doesn’t want Kurt to be late. It’s a big day. For a lot of reasons. “Go knock ‘em dead, and then come home so we can go on vacation.”

Kurt pats his pocket again, but then he smiles like the sun rising after the rain, all light and joy and relief. “Vacation,” he says, and he comes over for another, slightly longer kiss, his hand on Blaine’s jaw and his mouth warm and soft with happiness. “Yes.”

“Da!” Audrey says, waving a sticky hand perilously close to Kurt’s suit.

“Have a good morning, honey,” Kurt says, catching her fist with that sixth sense of his right before it makes contact and pressing a sweet kiss to it. “And don’t give Papa any trouble packing. We have a train to catch. It won’t wait for us.”

“I have all morning,” Blaine assures him. “I’ll be ready.”

“Okay. I’ll see you by noon.” Kurt flicks them a wave and heads for the front door and his busy morning at work.

“More grapes?” Blaine asks Audrey, and as he puts them on her plate she bangs her fist in excitement on her tray. Grapes, plate, and sippy cup go flying.

She blurts out a giggle, then blinks, opens her mouth wide, and begins to cry.

Stifling a sigh, Blaine kisses her on the top of the head before he gets down onto the floor on his knees to pick up the mess.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, tickling her toes from beneath the table, which stops the tears like it always does. “I’ll get you some more. We have all morning.”

_Friday, 1:35 pm:_

“Everything’s fine, Kurt,” Rachel says, smiling at Audrey, who is a warm wiggling weight in Kurt’s arms. “I got everything on your list. You and Blaine have a great time. My goddaughter and I are going to have the best weekend together.”

“Ray!” Audrey cries, holding out her hands toward Rachel.

“That’s right,” Rachel tells her with delight. “Rachel!”

Kurt looks around the living room to be sure that he got everything packed into the bags sitting at her feet. He doesn’t want to have overlooked something important, like her floppy bunny or her stacking cups or, god forbid, her diapers. Rachel would probably buy her some from the bodega by her apartment, and Audrey has sensitive Hummel skin. She needs the unbleached kind. Besides, they don’t have stupid cartoon characters on them. He sees no need to have to coordinate her outfits around cartoon characters that might peek out above her waistband.

“Ray!” Audrey says again, kicking her feet. “Dada! Ray!”

“Good job, sweetheart.” Kurt drops a proud if distracted kiss on the top of her head. He doesn’t know how she’s growing up so fast that she’s starting to talk so much. “Did you get the yogurt?” he asks Rachel.

“Yes,” she replies.

“Strawberry? She still doesn’t like peaches for some reason. She used to love them, but she’s very opinionated.”

“Yes.” She leans in and touches the tip of her finger to Audrey’s perfect little upturned nose, and Audrey wiggles like she wants to launch herself toward her. “And I don’t know _anyone_ whose opinionated genes she might have gotten, not her Daddy’s...”

“Or who else in her life could have influenced her, like a godmother,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes. “What about the oatmeal bath soap? Did you find it? I can still pack ours.”

“Ba?” Audrey asks Kurt, craning her neck to look up at him and smacking her fists happily against his arm.

“No, honey, it isn’t bath time,” Kurt replies.

“Ba?” she asks again.

“I got it,” Rachel says. “I do know how to navigate a Whole Foods.”

Blaine walks past, grabbing one of Audrey’s kicking feet and jiggling it as he leans past them to grab something from the bowl by the door. Kurt only keeps his keys and wallet there, but for Blaine it is a repository of all sorts of sundries, from ticket stubs to cough drops to paperclips. He turns around with his sunglasses in his hand.

“Ready?” Kurt asks him.

“Almost. I’m sorry. I can’t find my boat shoes,” Blaine says, his shoulders rising and his whole body tight and frustrated. “They aren’t in the closet or in the bins under the bed.”

“Look in the coat closet.” Kurt thinks he deserves a husband of the year award for being honest, because Blaine’s boat shoes are ten years old and ratty, but Blaine loves them on casual days in the summer, and Kurt loves _him_ , so he endures their scuffed edges and tattered laces.

Besides, there’s something especially appealing about Blaine when he’s dressed so far down, all relaxed prep school frat boy lack-of-chic, ready for a beer or a video game or an easy, I-think-you’re-cute-so-come-hither-if-you-think-I’m-cute-too smile across the room. A thrill goes up Kurt’s spine just thinking about it, a rush of memory and anticipation, and he smiles to himself. He’s an adult; he can own his kinks.

“And I bought some of those special challah rolls you like, too,” Rachel tells Audrey. “Even though they weren’t on your Daddy’s very detailed list.”

Blaine pulls open the closet door and lets out a triumphant sound. “Thank you,” he says, emerging with shoes in hand. “Do you know where my new blazer is?”

Kurt raises his eyebrows; he’d mentioned it twice this morning. “The one I put in the bathroom?”

“Ray!” Audrey cries, and Kurt tightens his hold so she doesn’t wiggle right out of his grip toward Rachel. She may be magical and wonderful, but she can’t actually fly.

Blaine sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and says, “Right. Thank you.”

“You’d better hurry up,” Rachel tells him as she tickles Audrey’s belly. “You don’t want to miss your train. I can’t believe you’re packing so late.”

“I know. Aud had a rough morning,” Blaine says and hurries back toward the bedroom.

Rachel bops Audrey on the nose again, Audrey squeals and kicks, and Kurt gives up and hands her to Rachel, as much as he wants to hold onto his daughter as long as he can before they go. There’s no point in fighting against Audrey’s good mood.

“Not you! You don’t have rough mornings,” Rachel says to her, bouncing her on her hip. “You are perfect!”

“Ray! Ray Ray Ray!” Audrey agrees and clutches at Rachel’s shirt.

“Kurt?” Blaine calls down the hallway. “Did you pack shampoo? It’s not in the shower.”

“And moisturizer,” Kurt calls back. He puts his hands on his hips and ticks off his mental list again of what he needed to pack for Audrey this morning: fluffy bunny, favorite blanket, ah - her cold teether. He rushes into the kitchen to get it from the freezer, where he had put it away automatically after washing it. That would have been bad; Audrey’s getting another new tooth, and she’s very picky about what she’ll chew on.

“What about my gel?”

Kurt goes back to the front door and kneels down to open up the diaper bag to tuck the teether away in its place. “I put it in your toiletries kit already.”

“I was thinking we’d go for a walk in the park,” Rachel tells Audrey as she rocks back and forth next to Kurt. “We can feed the ducks and critique the buskers. And then you can help me practice my scales.”

“Okay, thank you,” Blaine calls. “And you have the lube, right?”

Rachel chokes back a strangled laugh, and Kurt can feel his face heating. He might be married, and he might be so attracted to his husband that it’s distracting sometimes, especially these days when it’s so difficult to find time together just the two of them, but there’s a part of him that still has no interest in sharing any of that information with anyone but Blaine, not even with his best friend.

“Yes,” he makes himself respond to Blaine, and he stands up, meets Rachel’s eyes, and silently _dares_ her to make a comment.

For a second, Kurt thinks she is going to be able to control herself, but then Blaine says with way too much excitement from the bedroom, “Then I’m coming!”

Rachel starts to giggle, burying her face into Audrey’s hair, and says as Blaine wheels his bag out into the living room, “It sounds like you two haven’t forgotten anything important.”

“I don’t think so,” Blaine says happily, apparently totally unaware of what’s going on. He leans in and gives Audrey a big kiss on the cheek. “We have to go, sweetheart. Have fun with Aunt Rachel. We’ll be home in a few days.”

Kurt smooths his hands down his light summer sweater and makes sure his phone is in his pocket. “See you soon, honey,” he says to Audrey. He gives her the best hug he can, given that she’s latched onto Rachel with both fists and clearly doesn’t want to let go. He’d like to sweep her up into his arms one last time, but he is going to take the gift of her being happy to be with Rachel and leave - he hopes - without her bursting into tears.

“Call us if there are any problems,” Blaine says to Rachel, kissing the top of Audrey’s head. He grabs his suitcase again and picks up Kurt’s shoulder bag as well, the consummate gentleman; it makes Kurt’s heart flutter. “Or text. Or send pictures.”

“Have a _great_ time,” Rachel says, with wide, totally not innocent eyes. “I hope you get to see the beach. Or not, whatever you guys want to do.”

Kurt makes himself not respond, largely because they’re running late and because Audrey is tired enough at this time of day that tears can happen in an instant, and catches the handle of his own suitcase. “Thank you. We’ll see you Monday.”

And finally, finally, ten minutes late and feeling even more harried than he had last night in the midst of packing, he and Blaine walk out of the apartment and are on their way.

 

_Friday, 2:40 pm:_

Blaine comes back from the train’s bathroom and takes his seat across from Kurt, who is flipping through _Vogue_ with a thoughtful look on his face. He’s still in work mode, Blaine can tell from the serious set of his eyebrows as he scans the pages of the magazine, but he’s dressed down but beautifully in a crocheted ivory sweater with artfully frayed sleeves instead of his usual around-the-apartment-with-Audrey washable casual wear. As much as Blaine loves it when Kurt is comfortable, he looks like the Kurt Blaine grew up with, put together but not dressed to kill for work. He’s wearing a jaunty scarf around his neck and a sailor-style cap, but it hasn’t been chosen to put a co-worker silently to shame or impress an important visitor but because they’re going to the ocean. It’s the kind of whimsical touch Blaine has always appreciated about how Kurt chooses his clothes when it’s just for himself.

And it’s just for himself, because they’re on _vacation_.

Blaine lets out a slow breath and watches the city grow smaller beyond of the window. He feels like he can fill his lungs for the first time in months, can sit quietly for the first time since Audrey was born, and it’s so good he aches with it.

And yet a part of him feels like it’s being stretched and pulled from a hook in his heart connected back to the city, back to their daughter. He doesn’t need to get off at the next stop or anything; he just can’t forget about her. He loves her too much.

But he loves Kurt, too, and this weekend is about _them_. He can put aside that pull he didn’t used to have and enjoy this time together.

They need it. They both need it.

Blaine smiles and stretches out his legs, letting his feet tangle with Kurt’s. Kurt looks up at him and smiles back, lightly caging one of Blaine’s legs between his own.

Warmth and happiness flood through Blaine as the train speeds up and clatters onward.

This is going to be so good.

 

_Friday, 4:50 pm:_

“Finally,” Kurt says with a sigh, shutting the door of their hotel room and putting the chain on the hook. They’re late, there wasn’t a taxi at the stand when they arrived at the train station, and their seaside hotel’s reception was friendly enough but very slow to sort out the big group that had just arrived before them - and would have been _after_ them if there had been a taxi at the station - but at least they’re here, in their room, on vacation.

The room isn’t huge, but it’s clean and tidy, a couple of chairs and a desk to one side and a king-sized bed with more than enough pillows to suit even Kurt’s taste. The curtains are more conservative than he would pick, but their mattress-ticking stripe seems appropriately coastal, and the bathroom he passes looks delightfully modern and large in comparison to the homey decoration of the room.

He has no complaints, not even about the thread count of the sheets, which are surely less luxurious than what they sleep on at home.

“Look at the view,” Blaine says, skimming open the sheers to show their little patio with its tiny table and two lounge chairs overlooking the sandy beach. It would be a nicer view if it were sunny instead of drizzling, but then the beach is also empty because of the rain. Besides, Kurt’s always loved the rain.

Kurt comes to stand beside him, and he leans into Blaine as Blaine slips an arm around his waist. It’s quiet; the sounds of the surf and any nearby rain-loving seagulls are muffled by the closed french doors. The grey horizon is so far away, there’s so much space between him and the rest of the world in a way he never feels in the city, and Kurt feels his heart lift and expand, like the space around him gives it room to do so.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs in reply.

Blaine kisses Kurt’s shoulder, and they stand there for a few minutes, just drinking it in. Kurt feels tired, and the heat seeping from Blaine’s body into his own isn’t helping with that, but he also feels oddly free. If he feels a little guilty about that, too, well... it is what it is.

“What time is our dinner reservation?” he asks Blaine.

“Seven,” Blaine replies, his eyes still on the horizon.

“Hmm.” Kurt says thoughtfully. That’s plenty of time to take a shower and wash off the grime of the trip, do his hair without trying to set a speed record, and pick the perfect outfit out of his options. It’s their first dinner out in what feels like forever; he wants to do it right. And he’s tired, so this way he won’t have to move as quickly as he does at home. He can take it easy, take his time, not rush.

But then he turns to Blaine, Blaine who somehow looks fantastic in a red polo shirt with a little grimy handprint on the sleeve and a pair of simple dark jeans that are doing amazing things to his ass - but then that’s pretty much every pair of jeans everywhere, Kurt thinks - and Kurt’s plans of a lengthy shower and pampering session fly out of the window. Blaine’s right there. Blaine, his very, very handsome husband.

They’ve got two hours until dinner. He can think of other ways to enjoy them.

So he cups Blaine’s cheek and turns his face toward him, kissing him as soon as his mouth is in reach. He means it to be soft and happy, and it starts out that way, but he’s _hungry_ for him, suddenly just starving for the very taste of him when he can finally have more than something quick, so when Blaine gasps into his mouth and slides his hands up Kurt’s back Kurt doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He urges Blaine to give him more, to open wider, to delve deeper, and isn’t disappointed in the least when Blaine kisses back just as fervently.

He isn’t surprised, either, because if Kurt has always enjoyed sex Blaine’s always needed it more. If Kurt’s burning, Blaine must be a conflagration.

“Kurt,” Blaine moans, almost a laugh, and he tugs at the back of Kurt’s sweater on the next glide of his eager hands.

“I know,” Kurt says, because they’ve always run hot for each other, but it’s still an amusing and kind of absurd rush to feel desire flare between them so quickly, from one moment to the next. Aren’t they supposed to be more restrained than that? They’re parents, after all. They’re adults.

Blaine gets his hands under the finely knit shirt Kurt’s wearing under his sweater and makes a happy sound. His skin is so hot against Kurt’s as his fingers skim up his back, leaving raw need in their wake.

 _To hell with restraint_ , Kurt thinks, and he yanks Blaine’s shirt out of his jeans. He has enough forethought to flick the curtains shut before starting to get Blaine out of his clothes.

“I can’t believe we can just do this,” Blaine says in wonder as Kurt strips off Blaine’s shirt and his own and pushes Blaine back onto the bed.

Kurt presses a hot kiss to Blaine’s stomach, the muscles trembling beneath his mouth, and works open the fly of Blaine’s jeans. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.“ Blaine lifts his hips as Kurt pulls off Blaine’s pants and underwear, and not for the first time he appreciates the fact that Blaine never wears socks if he doesn’t have to; there’s rarely that awkward visual of him being naked with socks on.

Although, Kurt thinks as he kneels between Blaine’s bare legs and kisses the curve of Blaine’s firm stomach again, Blaine being in any state of dress or undress is really never awkward to his eyes.

It’s not just a luxury to be able to drop everything and have sex, he realizes as he gets his hands on Blaine’s hips and ducks his head to mouth along the crease of his thigh and up the length of Blaine’s already nearly fully hard cock; it’s a luxury to have sex during the day, too. Since it isn’t night, they don’t have to be quiet and worried about waking Audrey, and he can also _see_ Blaine, pull back for a second and look up his beautiful, toned body, take in his heaving chest, his warm, quickly flushing skin, the dark scatter of hair across his chest and down his stomach, the length of his erection, the desperation and joy in Blaine’s eyes. It’s all there for him, not in the low light of Kurt’s dressing table lamp at night but fully visible and stunningly gorgeous in the overlay of years of happy memories with this beloved body and the promise of making more in the present.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, reaching for him, and Kurt shakes his head and licks up Blaine’s cock, getting a wonderful gasp in return.

“Let me,” he says, and he watches - he _watches_ in full, glorious sunlight - Blaine arch up as Kurt sucks the head of his cock into his mouth and slides it wetly against the roof of his mouth with his tongue before taking more of him in.

“Oh god. Oh god.” Blaine’s fingers tighten in Kurt’s hair for a moment before letting go. “Oh, god, Kurt.”

Kurt hums and gets a hand around the base of Blaine’s erection, jacking him steadily as he sucks and licks, reveling in the bitter-salt taste of him, the thickness of him stretching and filling his mouth, the burning heat of his skin, the familiar smell of his sweat and arousal, the utter beauty of Blaine’s body as it reacts to his every touch.

Kurt slides his free hand over Blaine’s hip and down his strong thigh, feeling the wiry hair against his palm and the tension of the muscle beneath it. Blaine parts his legs more, lets Kurt settle between them, and moans when Kurt cups his balls and strokes the sensitive skin behind them.

Blaine’s always been an eager lover and generous with his reactions. He’s never held back with Kurt, never does anything but let him know just how thrilled he is with everything Kurt offers him, and there’s a freedom in that for Kurt, knowing that whatever he wants Blaine will want it, too. And right now what Kurt wants is to _have_ him, to get to enjoy him, not to give him a quick blowjob before Audrey wakes up on a Sunday morning with Blaine’s sleep pants barely pushed out of the way and Kurt’s release coming from a sweet but rushed hand on his own erection as Audrey snuffles her way toward wakefulness over the monitor, but to _enjoy_ Blaine, to get to have him as his own again, to work Blaine’s body until he’s desperate to come not because of a deadline but because of _Kurt_.

He wants to be able to fuck Blaine or be fucked without having to worry about the time it might take from sleep or if they’ll be able to do it - or clean up - quietly enough or if they can rush fast enough through brunch so that they have some time at home alone before Rachel brings Audrey back from their morning out.

He wants to be able to slide down on the bed and mouth at Blaine’s balls the way Blaine loves without worrying about anything but how long he can do it before Blaine starts to beg.

“Please, please,” Blaine gasps as Kurt nuzzles at the seam of his leg and licks lushly around the base of Blaine’s cock. “Oh, god, Kurt, please.”

“That didn’t take long,” Kurt says to himself with a laugh, getting his hand back around Blaine and stroking him in slick, practiced motions. His own hips rock a little against the bed, his erection trapped in his jeans. His blood is surging through his veins, pushing him for more, more, more.

He wants to be able to take his time, use his mouth and his hands to show his love in all of the ways he’s learned how over the years, let his jaw get tired and his muscles grow weak, let the burning desire in their blood turn to something so desperate they can’t hold themselves together anymore.

He wants to feel the world contract around them until there’s only them, only the two of them and their bodies and their hearts, and nothing else in the world. He wants to smile with unbounded love into Blaine’s eyes as Blaine comes. He wants to be held close and safe as he shudders through his own release.

He wants to kiss and touch until he’s had his fill, until they’re both sated with it and still can’t stop themselves. He wants to kiss until his lips are sore and caress until they aren’t two people maneuvering through their shared life but he truly can’t remember where he ends and Blaine begins.

He wants, he wants, he wants, as he sucks and swirls around Blaine’s cock and runs his free hand over his body, over his stomach, his chest, his waist, his ass, his thigh, this body that Blaine so generously has given him for so long.

“Kurt,” Blaine begs again, his hips hitching up off the bed with every pull of Kurt’s hand.

Kurt knows what that signal means, both the tone of Blaine’s voice and the helpless movements of Blaine’s body. “You’re close?” he says and tries not to be disappointed. He wants to make Blaine come, after all. He just wants to have more time. 

“Yes.” Blaine clutches at his own hair, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s fast, but it’s been so - and you’re so - “

“It’s okay,” Kurt says against his hip, licking generously up Blaine’s shaft. He looks up into Blaine’s lust-clouded eyes. “It’s okay. We have plenty of time for more.”

Blaine’s mouth curves into the most devastatingly thrilled smile Kurt has seen from him in a while. “We _do_ \- ah - “ His sentence is cut off by Kurt’s mouth taking him in again, and it’s not long at all before Blaine’s jerking up into his mouth and coming in thick pulses over Kurt’s tongue.

“I _love_ you,” Blaine says to him, his voice slurred like he’s drunk, when Kurt pushes up the bed to lie beside him. “Oh my god, Kurt.”

“I love you, too.” Flicking open the button of his jeans to try to give his cramped erection a little more room, Kurt settles on his side and lays his head on Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine’s always dopey after his orgasm; he knows to give him some time.

Blaine laughs a little and gets an arm around Kurt’s bare shoulders. “You do. I know you do.” He laughs again. “Just give me a minute, and I’m going to return that favor so hard you’re going to see stars, Mr. Anderson-Hummel.”

Smiling, Kurt kisses Blaine’s shoulder and closes his eyes. His blood is thrumming, but at least the bed is comfortable. He sighs against Blaine’s skin. “Don’t rush through the afterglow. We’ve got time.”

“Just a minute,” Blaine tells him and nuzzles against Kurt’s sweat-damp hair. “Maybe two.”

 

_Friday, 5:25 pm:_

Snuffling into the pillow, Kurt rolls onto his other side in his sleep, and Blaine follows him, getting his arm around his waist and snoring gently against his shoulder.

 

_Friday, 6:30 pm:_

Blaine drifts up from a confusing dream about being offered his choice from an endless table of breakfast cereals and is frustrated even before he opens his eyes that he fell asleep with the light on again. He seriously needs to get better about that when he reads in bed, especially if Kurt falls asleep before he does.

He draws in a deep breath and presses his face against the blade of Kurt’s shoulder. He’s so tired and his body is so heavy that it must surely be the middle of the night, although he’s chilly from having kicked off the covers and left his bare skin out in the air - 

Wait.

Bare skin?

He doesn’t sleep naked anymore, not since Aud first came home and he almost forgot to put pants on when the visiting nurse came by first thing one morning.

Blaine cracks open an eye and finds a wall where the door to the hallway used to be, and after a split second of panic he remembers that he’s not home. He’s on vacation. With Kurt. Who is curled in his arms and just gave him one of the best blowjobs of his life, though he doesn’t know if it blew off the top of his head because it was so good - though Kurt is undoubtedly skilled at caring for Blaine’s body - or just because it was the first one that thorough in a long, long time.

Either way, he’s smiling in satisfaction as he kisses the nape of Kurt’s neck and shifts so that his palm is pressed against Kurt’s flat, bare stomach.

“Mmm,” he says happily, and he doesn’t feel too guilty that he drifted off after that orgasm, because now he has the energy and control of his body to make Kurt come even harder. As he strokes over Kurt’s skin, he feels like he might even be able to get hard again, like he’s a teenager, and that makes him think of the possibility of getting to _fuck_ Kurt or vice versa _right now_ in this very nice bed, and yeah, he’s going to have no problem getting it up, whoa, suddenly he has no blood in his head whatsoever.

Blaine lets his hand drift lower, and he kisses Kurt’s neck again as he plays with the open button of Kurt’s jeans.

“Hmm,” Kurt murmurs, shifting his hips forward in invitation.

“You feel so good,” Blaine tells him, rubbing his fingertips beneath the waistband of Kurt’s underwear.

Kurt slides a hand up Blaine’s thigh and makes a husky sound of agreement.

“Amazing, actually.” Blaine inches down Kurt’s zipper, dizzily mouthing hot kisses up the side of his throat.

“Oh - “ Kurt’s moan is cut off. “Oh my god!” he says much more loudly.

Blaine laughs and pulls open Kurt’s fly. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” he teases at his enthusiasm.

Kurt bats his hand away and sits up in alarm. “No, Blaine, _oh my god, look at the time_ ,” he says, pointing to the clock on his bedside table. “We have dinner reservations!”

Blaine’s heart stutters and falls, not just because that means that they aren’t having sex right now - although obviously, that’s a pretty big negative - but because it means they spent the past few hours _sleeping_ without planning on it. It explains how his refractory period seemed to have disappeared, but it also means they slept away part of their vacation and have next to no time to get ready to go out.

He is disappointed in himself, but he’s even more upset that Kurt looks distraught. Mussed and entirely edible, but definitely distraught. He knows Kurt was looking forward to his primping time before their first leisurely dinner out in forever. Instead they wasted the time and fell asleep. And Blaine didn’t even give him his own orgasm in thanks first.

“Oh my god,” Blaine says sadly.

Kurt lets out a soft sigh in agreement and pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I need to get up.”

“Okay.” Blaine is about to roll away when he is struck by a brilliant brainstorm. It’s probably due to that rare bit of deep sleep he got, since brilliance hasn’t exactly been a characteristic he recognizes in himself recently. “Wait! I can call and tell them we’ll be late!”

Kurt’s attention snaps back to him, his eyes lighting up. “They can change our reservation,” he agrees in wonder. The kiss he bestows on Blaine for his incredible idea is hard and probably meant to be fast, only Kurt’s half-naked and Blaine’s blood has still all rushed to his totally naked dick, and Blaine has really, really missed being able to have his fill of him. So he throws himself into the kiss, and by the time he lifts his head for air he’s pushed Kurt down on his back and has made a complete mess of his already untidy hair by shoving his fingers in it to hold him steady while he devoured Kurt’s mouth.

“Um,” Kurt says faintly, pressing his lips together. His hands flex on Blaine’s hips, and it looks like it takes effort for him to swallow.

“I should call the restaurant.” Blaine looks down at him, and all he wants to do in the entire world is keep kissing him, because he’s Kurt and he’s his and he’s here and he’s clearly more than willing, looking up at him with wide, glazed eyes and flushed cheeks. “How long do you need?”

Kurt clears his throat. “Ten minutes? Fifteen? I can shower after dinner.”

“No,” Blaine says with a smile, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Kurt’s. “That’s how fast you do it at home, because we’re always rushing. How long do you need to get ready the way you want to?”

“Oh.” Kurt’s eyes warm even more. “A half hour?”

Blaine remembers countless times he used to have to wait for Kurt to be ready before they could go - for the finishing touches on his hair or just the right cufflinks - and while he doesn’t doubt that a full half hour would be a luxury to Kurt, he can do even better. “Let’s say forty-five minutes,” he says and watches Kurt’s face go cloudy with pleasure.

“Okay,” Kurt says breathlessly, and Blaine dips his head for another soft kiss before pushing himself upright to get his phone.

He finds his phone in his pants, and he pauses for a moment when he turns around, drinking in the sight of Kurt propped up on his elbows on the bed, his hair wild, his chest bare, and his jeans unzipped and low on his hips. He looks like a _dream_ , the kind that Blaine has in the middle of the night, only this isn’t a dream. Blaine glances over at the clock. “I’ll tell them eight-thirty.”

Kurt turns his head toward the nightstand, the movement doing wonderful things to his muscles beneath his skin. “That’s two hours from now.”

“You’re right,” Blaine says with a jerky nod. He wants to put his mouth on the curve of Kurt’s shoulder. He wants to put his mouth a lot more places, too. “Nine.”

“What?”

Blaine pulls up the itinerary Kurt sent him and stops with his thumb hovering over the restaurant’s phone number. He looks right into Kurt’s confused eyes. “I don’t want you to be rushed when you fuck me.” Kurt blinks at him, that kind of bambi/anime/brain rebooting blink he gets when he’s too overwhelmed to think, and Blaine grins. That’s definitely a good sign. He watches Kurt’s gaze drift down over his bare body. “If you want.”

Shaking his head after a second, Kurt gets up off the bed and stretches his arms over his head. “It’s like you’re a teenager again,” he says, but as he’s shimmying out of his jeans and underwear as he says it Blaine is pretty sure that’s not a no.

“Nine,” Blaine agrees, his mouth going dry, and he hurries to call the restaurant so that he can be back on the bed by the time Kurt digs out the lube.

 

_Friday, 9:15 pm:_

Kurt hands his menu to the waiter and settles back into his chair, smiling across the table at Blaine. That new jacket is setting off Blaine’s shoulders and chest just the way Kurt had thought it would, and the candlelight does amazing things to his skin. The view is very pleasing indeed, all the more because Blaine’s so relaxed and happy, not a hint of stress in his face. He doesn’t even look that tired for once, though Kurt’s sure they’ll still both sleep deeply and long tonight, and not just because they’ve been exerting themselves this afternoon and evening.

He can feel his cheeks warm a little at how eagerly they’ve been going at each other pretty much since the minute the door shut to their room. He feels self-conscious about his own hungry need - sated for the moment but still sparking and whirling with the memory of Blaine moving so beautifully under him, around him, taking him in so eagerly - when they could have sex every night at home if they wanted, but privacy and time are so very rare these days, and it’s not like having a child has robbed them of their desire for each other. Well, apart from being desperately short of sleep so much of the time, which frequently saps them of the desire to do anything in bed or elsewhere but close their eyes.

But not tonight, because they’re on vacation. And there’s always been some extra magic in a romantic getaway, an extra bit of specialness to everything.

“I can’t believe we’re out to dinner,” Blaine says, smiling at him, and Kurt thinks he really ought to be used to Blaine’s smile by now after so many years of it being filled with love when directed at him and now at Audrey, but it still makes his heart flutter up into his throat like it did the first time he met Blaine on the staircase at Dalton. He guesses a part of him will always be a starry-eyed teenage boy when it comes to Blaine.

Glad to have an excuse to look away from Blaine for a second and not just gape like an infatuated schoolboy, Kurt nods his thanks to the waiter as he brings them their drinks. “I can’t believe we’re out to dinner so _late_.”

“I know,” Blaine says. “Aud’s already in bed.”

“Or driving Rachel to tears because she won’t _go_ to bed. She may have met her match in Miss Audrey Elizabeth.”

“They’ll be okay,” Blaine says, probably because he’s the one with the magic touch to get Audrey back to sleep within minutes. It always seems to take Kurt longer, but then time is distorted inside of her room. As much as Kurt loves holding and rocking her, at three in the morning five minutes can feel like hours. Blaine’s grin grows, satisfied and knowing. “And if they aren’t it isn’t our problem tonight. We get to do things on our schedule this entire weekend.”

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief; it’s been so long since they haven’t had to worry about anyone else. “I almost don’t know what to do with myself.”

He takes a sip of his wine and basks in the warm glow of the candlelight and the soft murmur of conversation around them, the gentle clink of cutlery on plates and the aroma of the gorgeous little amuse-bouches the waiter lays down in front of them. Kurt glances back up at Blaine and almost feels like laughing from the thrill of the moment; he’s always appreciated a sophisticated evening out - even when his idea of sophistication included Breadstix - but now it feels even more special, like a return to the person he used to be. He lifts up the tiny spoonful the chef has created and says, “I’m pretty sure I’m going to remember very quickly.”

“Yeah.” Blaine’s eyes meet his over their decadent mouthfuls of creme fraiche and dilled salmon, and they both sigh in pleasure at the taste. Blaine puts down his spoon and says, “Yeah, me, too.”

Kurt extends his hand on the pressed white tablecloth, his foot automatically sliding under his chair and drifting left and right to check that everything is where it should be; he feels a second’s spike of icy concern when his foot doesn’t hit anything before he remembers that he doesn’t have a bag with him, neither a diaper bag nor his work portfolio, and then he settles and slides his foot forward to touch Blaine’s instead.

Blaine’s fingers are warm in his, soft and tender as they caress the base of his palm and side of his thumb. Blaine’s gaze is soft and tender, too, overflowing with his generous heart, and Kurt hopes Blaine never stops looking at him that way.

But they seriously need to do more than smile at each other, because they’re out to dinner together without anyone to interrupt them but a waiter, and Kurt means to take full advantage of it.

“So,” Kurt says, “I want to hear about how you’re feeling about being back at work.”

Blaine’s face brightens even more, but only for a second. “Are you sure? We’re on vacation. We used to have a no work talk rule.”

“That was when we could talk over dinner every night without having food thrown at us,” Kurt reminds him and reaches for his wine again, because it’s not like he can’t have another glass if he finishes the first one. They’re walking back to their room, and they can sleep as late as they want. “Tell me everything. No detail is too small.”

 

_Saturday, 2:45 am:_

Blaine’s eyes snap open, and he lifts his head from the pillow to look at the clock, careful not to jostle Kurt, who is curled around him, his breath hot and steady against the nape of Blaine’s neck.

It’s the middle of the night. Blaine lets his head sink back onto the comfortable, unfamiliar hotel pillow. He lies there for a few minutes, listening to Kurt breathe and the sounds of the building around them.

If some noise woke him, it doesn’t repeat itself. It’s certainly not his crying daughter. She’s not here. He doesn’t have to check on her or comfort her. He can’t peek in to watch her sleep.

Blaine lets out a slow breath and tries without success to keep his brain from rousing into wakefulness. He’s used to waking up in a blink, and he’s rested enough that he could easily get up for a little while until he gets drowsy again. It’s tempting to go sit outside and look at the ocean for a bit. The moon is full and probably beautiful reflected on the water. He’s always loved the mystery of the ocean at night, ever since his parents took him to California on vacation when Cooper moved there.

But if he opens the doors, he’ll wake up Kurt. Kurt, whose pulse is a slow, sleepy siren’s call where Blaine’s hand rests on his wrist.

He doesn’t want to wake Kurt, and honestly he doesn’t want to move away from him. He loves being held. He loves the way Kurt holds him, not too tight but like it’s necessary to have him close, like it’s a given that Blaine should be there. It would hurt to slip out from under Kurt’s strong arm, especially since somehow he’s feeling thirsty for love now that he has all of his attention again.

It’s silly, because he has Kurt every day, but this feels different. It feels special, somehow, about _him_ and only him when there’s usually a third person taking some of the attention.

So Blaine lets his eyes close again and snuggles back into Kurt’s grip. He smiles to himself as Kurt murmurs something in his sleep and buries his nose in Blaine’s hair.

The ocean will be there tomorrow. Kurt’s here now.

 

_Saturday, 7:50 am_

Kurt can barely breathe as Bette Midler pulls him up onto the stage to sing with her, but he’s completely ready to perform whatever duet she wants. It’s a good thing he always warms up his voice before going to a show. He lets her take off his jacket and slip on a new one. It’s incredible, and it fits like it was made for him. It looks like it’s vintage. Is it Valentino?

“Are you ready, Kurt?” she asks him in that distinctive voice of hers, facing him out toward the audience, which roars its approval. “I think you’re ready.”

“I am,” he tries to tell her as he squints out into the theater, but the stage lights are _so_ bright in his eyes, brighter than he’s ever seen before in all of his times on stage, and he doesn’t want to close his eyes, but he can’t keep them open, he can’t, it’s so _bright_ , and then her hands slip from his shoulders and the audience is getting further away and the lights are getting brighter and -

Kurt drapes his arm over his face to block the beam of sunlight falling into his eyes. The sound of applause is still loud in his ears, and he breathes out and tries to get back to Bette. He wants to be back on that stage with her, singing at her side, sharing the spotlight. He wants the attention. He wants the adulation. He wants the flare of camera flashes in his face.

He rolls his head on the pillow, feels a quiet familiar pull in his veins, and realizes he kind of wants his morning cup of coffee, too.

God, he’s awake, isn’t he? Bette isn’t coming back.

Kurt makes a disappointed sound before he can help it, and then he freezes, because Blaine’s draped across him, his head on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt doesn’t want to wake him.

“You okay?” Blaine asks softly, lifting his head. He looks bright-eyed and alert, or at least as alert as he ever does before coffee; apparently Kurt shouldn’t have worried.

“Good dream,” Kurt croaks. He clears his throat to try to get his voice to sound anything like it should. So much for warming up in his imagination. “I wasn’t ready for it to end.”

The corner of Blaine’s mouth lifts, his eyes twinkle with hope, and he says, “Was it about me?”

“Bette Midler,” Kurt admits, stroking his fingers through Blaine’s rumpled hair in apology.

“Oh, the Divine Miss M,” Blaine says with just the right mixture of admiration and longing, one of the many reasons Kurt loves him. “I guess I can’t be jealous.” 

“It was just a dream.”

“That, too.” Fondly, Blaine caresses Kurt’s cheek with his fingertips. “Maybe if you go back to sleep you can find her again.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Kurt says around a yawn. “Besides, I think I’m up.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s still early,” Blaine tells him, moving his fingers up into Kurt’s hair, their soft motions making Kurt sigh with pleasure.

“I’m up at five almost every day.”

“But it’s vacation.”

Blaine’s right, Kurt thinks; this is a ridiculous hour to be up if he doesn’t have to, even if it’s later than he usually would sleep. In college he would have been able to sleep until ten. Well, at least nine. He’s never liked to be too lazy. He’d rather reach his real dreams than roll around in nighttime ones.

Kurt tilts his head into Blaine’s magical fingers and lets his eyes drift partway closed. Let might be too strong a word, because it’s not like he wants to fight it. Blaine knows just how to pet him, and Kurt’s just sleepy enough to allow it. “You’re up, too,” he points out. “We’re used to early hours.”

“Hmm,” Blaine agrees. His fingers still in Kurt’s hair, twisting in some of the longer strands at his crown. His smile goes sly. “Well, maybe we need to do something to help us get sleepy again.”

Amused, Kurt looks up at him from under his lashes and asks, “Why did we pay extra for the view if your plan is for us to spend the whole weekend in bed?”

“It’s not my _plan_ ,” Blaine says. “But if it’s what we end up doing, I’m not going to complain...” He lets go of Kurt’s hair, lifts himself up on his elbow, and goes in for a kiss.

“Morning breath.” Kurt turns his face away and warns him off with a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine rolls his eyes and tries again, leaning over him to get near his mouth. “I don’t care.”

“Seriously, Blaine,” Kurt says with a laugh, keeping him back.

“I seriously don’t _care_.” Blaine catches Kurt’s hand, presses it to the bed, raises his eyebrows in challenge, and leans in again with clear purpose.

Kurt’s laughter dies instantly, his pulse kicking up about three notches and his breath hitching in his chest. It’s not that Blaine is actually stopping him, because Kurt knows Blaine would let him go in a second if he protested, but he has that _look_ in his eyes, that look where it’s clear that all he wants in that moment is to have Kurt, and he is going to do his best to get him.

Kurt’s not sure, in the few endless seconds between Blaine speaking and Blaine kissing him, why he wasn’t immediately on board with that idea.

Yes, he’d prefer to have brushed his teeth, but it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. Sex is messy, just like life. He’s learned to accept it.

So his mouth opens readily to Blaine’s, his eyes closing and his body warming immediately. Blaine’s always liked morning sex, the way their bodies move together when they aren’t quite aware of anything else yet, and Kurt can see the appeal as he reacts helplessly to the stroke of Blaine’s tongue against his and the secure but careful grip of Blaine’s hand on his wrist.

He makes a soft, needy sound as his skin feels like it’s catching fire and all it needs is Blaine’s touch to soothe it.

Blaine pushes up on top of him, still kissing him, and Kurt thinks he could totally become a convert to morning sex as his blood surges through his veins and their growing erections press together through their soft sleep pants.

“Blaine,” he starts, sliding his free hand up Blaine’s back beneath his shirt as Blaine kisses down his throat and lets go of Kurt’s wrist to twine their fingers together on the mattress - 

There’s a sharp knock at the door.

Blaine’s head lifts with a jerk, the rest of him suddenly as unmoving as a statue. Kurt barely dares to breathe.

Out in the hall, there’s a muffled, “Room service.”

“Did you - ?” Kurt asks in a confused whisper.

“No,” Blaine says, frowning, his head still turned toward the door.

“Well, _someone_ ordered breakfast, and it wasn’t me.”

The knock sounds again. “Room service!”

“Go get it,” Kurt hisses.

“But we didn’t order anything,” Blaine replies.

“They’re just going to keep knocking!”

A new voice comes through the door, a woman’s, and there’s the jingling of a laden cart being pushed over a threshold across the hall.

“Oh.” Kurt lets out all of his tension in a breath and relaxes back into the pillow.

“It was for another room.” Blaine turns back to him, his smiling going from relieved to wolfish as Kurt watches him. “Now where was I?” His eyebrows lift, his eyes darkening.

“Well - “ Kurt says, aiming for nonchalant and a touch sultry but interrupted by the loud rumble of Blaine’s stomach before he can get there.

Blaine ducks his head, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says.

“Should we have tried to get that breakfast after all?”

“I’m fine. I can wait.”

“We can order something,” Kurt suggests.

Shaking his head, Blaine looks down at him, tightens his grip on Kurt’s hand, presses his hips down in a subtle grind, and says, “I have you, right here, in bed, underneath me. Why do you think I want something to eat instead?”

The intensity in his expression is almost completely ruined by his stomach rumbling again.

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Do you really need an answer to that?”

“I’m hungrier for you,” Blaine insists, dipping his head like he’s going to kiss him again.

Kurt can’t help it. As much as he’d happily accept the kiss, he starts laughing. “The lines that come out of your mouth,” he says, grinning fondly up at him, and after a second Blaine starts laughing, too, making his body move on top of Kurt’s in a not altogether unpleasant way -

And then _Kurt’s_ stomach growls, highlighting just how empty it feels, too.

He realizes that as much as he wants Blaine, he also wants _eggs_. And some fresh fruit. And definitely coffee. He needs coffee. He usually would have had it hours ago.

“Now it’s _both_ of us.” Letting him go, Blaine rolls off to the side, flopping beside him on the mattress. He turns his head so that he’s looking at Kurt. “Breakfast?” he offers with a wistful, resigned smile.

Kurt reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it affectionately. “Breakfast,” he agrees, just as wistfully. “We have all weekend for everything else.”

“Okay,” Blaine says. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee in the room machine while you shower.”

Kurt props himself up on his elbow and gives Blaine a quick but very grateful kiss. “And that’s among the many reasons I married you.”

“For my coffee-making skills?” Blaine teases as he stretches his arms up above his head. “I thought it was because you love me.”

Tossing him a grin over his shoulder, Kurt slides out of bed. “That, too.”

 

_Saturday, 10:20 am:_

“Fuck! Kurt!” Blaine cries out, loud and with apparently great feeling.

Hoping there aren’t any children around to overhear, Kurt pulls his knees up closer to his chest and holds tightly onto them in an attempt to keep himself quiet. He bites his lip and just keeps watching Blaine, his bare chest, his wet, curling hair -

“Oh my god!” Blaine gasps and jerks backwards, his body arching to an even more attractive angle.

Kurt rocks a bit on his tailbone, trying to keep everything that’s threatening to bubble out of him inside. He wants to be quiet and let Blaine do things his way. It always goes best when Blaine figures things out on his own.

Besides, he’s pretty sure there _are_ kids around. He doesn’t want to add to their potential trauma.

“It’s so - I need to - Kurt, it’s so - “ Blaine almost sounds like he’s in pain, his voice is so thick with his reaction.

Kurt tries to stay silent, he really does, but it’s impossible. He absolutely has to say, “Cold?” It’s pointed, but he’s pleased that it doesn’t sound _too_ mocking, and the ‘I told you so’ remains implied.

“Freezing!” Blaine agrees, splashing out of the ocean toward Kurt’s much more sensible perch on the lounge chair on the beach. He’s wet from head to toe, and even from this far away Kurt can see the bright flush on his skin from the less than welcoming temperature of the water. “Oh my god.”

Letting his arms fall in a looser loop around his tucked-up knees, Kurt toes the beach towel toward the end of the chair and then pulls away. He really doesn’t want any of that cold water to drip on him. “It’s the Atlantic ocean, Blaine. We aren’t in the Caribbean.”

“But it’s summer,” Blaine says plaintively as he grabs for the towel and uses it to dry himself off as quickly as he can.

Kurt rocks backwards again, all the better to admire his well-built if chilly husband wearing nothing but his swim trunks. “On Long Island.” The breeze is nicely warm and not too humid as it ruffles the sky blue scarf around his neck. It’s a nice summer morning on the beach, but he’s still glad he’s wearing clothes instead of a bathing suit. And not just because he loves this scarf.

“It’s still the beach.”

Shrugging a shoulder, Kurt says to the droplet of water sliding in a slow tease down Blaine’s stomach, “And yet still cold.”

“I just wanted to swim! I thought people surfed here.”

Kurt drags his eyes back up to Blaine’s. He may be allowed to feast his eyes as much as he wants this weekend because there’s no baby he should be watching instead, but he doesn’t need to get too distracted. “In wet suits.”

“No wonder you didn’t want to go in,” Blaine says, scrubbing his hair dry and making it delightfully messy.

“And I was in a scarf mood.” Kurt smooths down one of its fluttering ends.

Blaine grins at him from beneath the towel and says, “When aren’t you?”

Kurt smiles back and rocks a little, because it’s good to be known. He taps his toes with contentment against the canvas of the seat. “Excellent point.”

“It’s a nice one, too.”

“Thank you,” Kurt replies. “Almost the color of the Caribbean. A _warm_ ocean. One worth swimming in instead of just looking at.”

Dropping the towel around his bare shoulders, Blaine makes a thoughtful noise as he looks out at the apparently treacherously cold water.

The view is beautiful, the ocean rolling in gentle waves onto the sandy beach under the sunny sky. It might not be a tropical beach, but there’s still something so serene and special about it, about the sound of the surf and the endless horizon so, so far away.

Kurt takes a deep breath, another piece of him relaxing, and he wonders if they should bring their books out here instead of wandering into town this morning. They could sit and read, maybe even nap a little and have a late lunch, and if Kurt brings over that umbrella it could block the worst of the glare...

And then Blaine says, because he has never in all of the time Kurt has known him been good at letting an idea go, “I bet if I walked in slowly instead of dunking myself underwater right away it’d feel okay.”

Kurt stares at him for a moment. He almost considers asking Blaine if he’s lost his mind, because he’d heard the exact pitch of Blaine’s yelp just a few minutes ago the first time he got in the water.

But he knows Blaine, knows him better than anyone, so he lets go of his knees and extends his legs, reclining against the chair’s back and closing his eyes in resignation. “If you come out of there an ice cube I’m not going to let you warm your feet against my legs.”

His eyes are surprised back open by a salt-flavored kiss and the brush of Blaine’s cool nose against his. “Yes, you will,” Blaine tells him with a far-too-appealing grin from a few inches away before setting the towel on the end of the chair and hurrying back toward the water.

Kurt watches him go, watches the spring in his step and hears the sharp laugh of shock when his feet hit the chilly water again, and murmurs fondly and with a heart aching with happiness, because even if they’ve been together for so long there’s still no such thing as feeling too much love, “Yes, I will.”

 

_Saturday, 2:10 pm:_

Strolling down the sidewalk in the village past a shop with a charming window display, Blaine tugs Kurt to a halt by their linked hands. It isn’t the first stop they’ve made when something has caught one of their eyes, and Kurt follows Blaine’s cues without protest.

“A little busy, but I like the color scheme,” Kurt says, his eyes scanning the window with its neutral base palette broken up by brightly colored objects for sale. He hasn’t started ranking the displays, but the afternoon is still early; Blaine wouldn’t bet against it happening at some point.

Blaine peers more closely at the spray of ties curling over a pale piece of driftwood. “Hmm,” he says.

Kurt breathes out a laugh and presses his shoulder against Blaine’s. “And people dare to accuse _me_ of being single-minded about my clothes.” He leans in toward the ties. “Which one?”

“The anchors,” Blaine says. The small embroidered anchors on the navy background give the tie graphic interest as well as a nautical air, more of a preppy staple than a novelty item. It’s a souvenir of their trip _and_ useful.

Kurt laughs again. “Of course it’s the anchors.”

“I like them.” They’re sort of cheerful, in their own way. Jaunty, maybe.

“At least you didn’t pick the one with the fish. But think, Blaine. Where are you going to wear a tie with anchors on it?”

Blaine lifts his eyebrows and turns to face him, because it’s not like Kurt doesn’t wear far more eye-catching garments every day. “Where couldn’t I if i wanted to?” he asks. “And you’re the one whose scarf is being held by a pin in the shape of a fish hook right now.” It’s even sharp; it poked Blaine more than once before he gave up trying to get a proper kiss and they got out the door for lunch.

Shrugging his agreement, Kurt takes a breezy step away, leading him toward the shop’s entrance. “Come on. Like you ever have to twist my arm to turn window shopping into real shopping, and we don’t do either often enough. Let’s buy you an anchor tie,” he says, opening the door. His voice fills with more excitement. “Oh, they have sunglasses!”

They shop happily for a few minutes, Blaine gravitating toward the ties - they have _bow ties_ , too, real ones and not clip-ons - and Kurt toward the display of glasses, pins, and other accessories. Blaine catches sight of Kurt admiring his reflection in the mirror as he tries on a new hat, and he smiles to himself that Kurt’s finding things he likes, too. Shopping together is the best.

Then Kurt sighs out in dreamy awe, “Oh, _Blaine_. Look.”

Blaine turns toward him, three ties draped over his wrist, and sees Kurt holding up a perfect little sailor dress, all crisp white fabric with charming navy trim, shiny brass buttons, and a neat bow in the front. There is a pair of little ruffled shorts trimmed in navy ribbon to go with it.

Kurt holds the dress out at arm’s length and turns the hanger. “The detail is exceptional for baby clothes. Look at the stitching. They even lined the skirt properly.” He fluffs it out a little.

“Aud would look really cute in it,” Blaine says. He can imagine their daughter’s smiling face as she toddles toward them across the lawn in the park, a dandelion clutched in her hand. “Do they have shoes to match?” He looks around for the display.

“Probably,” Kurt replies, but he doesn’t sound excited about it. “But I’m putting the dress back. The second she goes near a snack or a sandbox it’ll be filthy.”

“But it’s really cute,” Blaine says with something of a pout, and he doesn’t know how Kurt is actually the practical one when it comes to clothes for their daughter, given his own finicky preferences about his own wardrobe. Maybe that’s why; he’s always liked to have the right outfit for every occasion, from walking around Fashion Week to working out, and he feels his child, who spends most of her time crawling around on the floor, should, too.

Either way, somehow Blaine keeps finding himself on the side of picking frilly dresses when Kurt wants to go for denim or leggings and beautiful but washable shirts and dresses in the current colors of the season.

“I know,” Kurt says with a sigh. “But do you remember how many newborn dresses we got that she never wore? Most of them still had the tags on them when we gave them away.”

Blaine nods. It had been such a waste of their friends’ money, as kind as it had been of them. It’s not that he doesn’t agree with Kurt’s logic. It’s just so... cute. “So she can wear it.”

Shaking his head, Kurt says, “I’m not going to be the kind of father who doesn’t let his daughter eat or play with modeling clay because her dress is too nice, and she’s not ready to throw dress-up tea parties for her stuffed animals yet.”

“And for us. I can’t wait for those,” Blaine says, because long before they officially decided to have Audrey they’d both planned on dressing to the nines for every tea party their child might want to throw. He has a bow tie with teddy bears on it that Kurt doesn’t know about tucked away for that very reason.

Kurt smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. “Me, too.” He fluffs out the skirt again, and Blaine knows he’s imagining Audrey serving them pretend tea in tiny pretend china cups while wearing that very dress.

“Look at the buttons,” Blaine says. He knows it’s not quite fair for him to throw that out there; Kurt’s always been drawn to special details. But it’s so _perfect_. He wants to see her in it, even if it’s mashed with bananas two minutes after she gets it on. He wants Kurt to want it, too.

Kurt traces one of the brass buttons longingly and then trails his fingertips along the edge of the bow. “We’ll have to throw a nautical-themed party before the end of the summer,” he says slowly. “Otherwise it’s going to be fall before she’ll have any special reason to wear it, and then it’ll be out of season.”

“I could wear my anchor tie!” Blaine bounces up onto his toes. They can get the dress, the tie, _and_ a party! It’s all falling into place. Kurt has a small collection of sailor caps, too, so he won’t be left out. “And I bet Tina would share her crab cake recipe if I asked her extra nicely. You know how good that is.”

“I’m drawing the line at singing sea shanties,” Kurt tells him. “We’re going to go yachting chic, not long haul sailors climbing the rigging.”

Blaine raises his hands in surrender, though he silently reserves the right to press the idea later on. It could be a fun thing to do. He wonders if there is such a thing as a yachting shanty.

Kurt’s reply is to push the dress toward Blaine, stepping away the second Blaine has hold of it. “Let’s see what else they have for her.”

When they leave the store, their bags hold two new ties for Blaine (the anchors and a crisp white and grey striped bow tie) and five new outfits for Audrey.

Blaine realizes as he slips on his sunglasses that they didn’t get anything for Kurt. He can’t remember if that’s ever happened before when they’ve been shopping, though surely it must have. At least once.

But Kurt’s smiling, one of the bags swinging easily from his free hand, as they head down the sidewalk, so Blaine guesses it must be okay with him.

 

_Saturday, 3:25 pm:_

Kurt is taking a sip of his iced coffee and looking dreamily out of the cafe’s window, half-imagined ideas of abstract anchor details and rope trim swirling in his head, not quite ready for him to jot down and tuck away for inspiration for the next season’s line, when Blaine looks up from reading the local paper he brought back from the counter when he went to get them refills and says, “The Rising Star Teen Summer Theater Company is doing _West Side Story_ in the theater down the street tonight. There are still tickets available.”

Blinking back into reality, Kurt mulls over that thought for a brief second and says, “I can’t really say I’m surprised. It may be a classic, but it’s hardly the light summer fare tourists would go for.”

“We could go,” Blaine says.

Kurt just raises his eyebrows and fixes him with exactly the look his ridiculous idea deserves. They live in New York. They go to every show that opens on Broadway. Why would they go see teen community theater on vacation when they don’t know anyone in it? One of the best reasons for living in New York is that they have access to _excellent_ theater.

“You love _West Side Story_. We were _in West Side Story_ ,” Blaine reminds him. He sounds almost affronted, but then he’s always been so loyal, even to his parts.

Kurt reaches across the little round table to rest his hand soothingly over Blaine’s wrist. “Yes, we were, and I can promise you that whoever is playing Tony will not hold a candle to your performance.”

“You don’t know that,” Blaine says stubbornly, despite the compliment. “These kids could be really talented.”

“For one, don’t we get enough of starry-eyed talented teenagers eager for power and trying to break into the business in our everyday lives at home?” Kurt asks. He doesn’t admit that they make him feel old sometimes to look at them and their boundless enthusiasm and confidence. He’s too young to feel old. He hopes he’s _always_ too young to feel old.

Blaine sets the paper down, still open. “We _were_ those kids, Kurt. Starry-eyed and all.”

“Yes, we were. And that brings me to my second point, which is that you _wooed_ me with your Tony, Blaine. Or don’t you remember? Our first time together? The stars in my eyes that night were for you. All I’d be able to see on that stage is my memory of you.” It’s as fresh as yesterday if Kurt thinks about it: Blaine shining with talent as Tony, Blaine shining with love later as himself. It still makes his stomach flip and his heart beat faster; that naive boy will always be a part of himself.

Blaine ducks his head, smiling in that helpless way he has when he’s very pleased, and he says softly, “Of course I remember. But that’s a problem?”

Kurt has to laugh, because he’s not sure even now if Blaine knows just how completely head-over-heels he was and is for him. He’s not sure Blaine can ever believe it. Blaine will probably never be able to see in himself what Kurt sees in him, but that’s okay, because Kurt will be right there to show him. “It could be inconvenient.”

“Why?” Blaine asks, a teasing light in his eyes. “Are you going to offer to go back to the lead’s house instead of our room?”

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt drawls. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. You know me, ready to relive my high school glory days and throw myself at anyone who plays Tony. I should be glad Puck didn’t try out that year, or else I’d be pining for _him_.”

Blaine just grins, leans in, and says, “Well, since _I_ played - “

The opening bars to “Anything You Can Do” trill on Kurt’s phone, which lies half-forgotten on the edge of the table so that Kurt can check the time without having to turn around to look at the clock behind the cafe’s counter.

They both freeze, whatever topic they were talking about totally forgotten.

“That’s Rachel’s ring,” Kurt says, and a thousand horrible scenarios flash through his mind: Audrey’s been hurt, she’s choked, she’s had an allergic reaction, she won’t stop crying, she won’t eat, she won’t sleep, she’s lost Mr. Fluffy Bunnikins (which Kurt has been forced to admit is the bunny’s name now, no matter how much he hates that Blaine named it that), she’s broken a bone, she’s getting a new tooth, she’s said a new word, she’s been kidnapped, she’s been taken away from them, she’s - 

Blaine grabs the phone before Kurt’s hand can get there. “Rachel?” Blaine says, breathless like he’s just run a mile to get it instead of just reaching his arm across the table. “What’s wrong?”

Kurt watches him, his eyes wide and his heart pounding so fast that he’d be worried about a heart attack if only he could care about anything else but Audrey right now. If she’s scared, if she’s in the hospital, if she’s -

Blaine’s eyebrows stay furrowed as Rachel talks, and he turns his hand under Kurt’s to clasp it, tight, so tight. “Uh huh. Uh huh. No. It should be in the bag.”

Audrey can have a hundred ruffled dresses, Kurt thinks desperately. She can have any toy she wants. She can only ever eat chocolate pudding for breakfast. She can take up the drums. She just needs to be okay. Rachel had said she wasn’t going to call unless there was an emergency, and she’s calling, and Audrey _has_ to be okay.

“How red?” Blaine asks. “How long has she been crying?”

Kurt’s heart falls even further, and he didn’t know that was possible. If Audrey’s hurt, if she’s crying and won’t stop, it means she needs Blaine. She’d take Kurt, obviously she’d take him, he’s her father, but Blaine has that magic touch, and she needs him, and they’re not _there_ , and they should be there, and - 

“Is she bleeding?” Blaine asks.

If she’s bleeding, then _Kurt_ should be there, too, because she shares his blood type, he could give her an infusion, she shares his _blood_ , and, god, he should be there, he’s her father, and she’s hurt, she’s bleeding, his sweet little daughter is -

“No,” Blaine says, squeezing Kurt’s hand almost painfully tight and then giving him a big, relieved smile. “No, that’s normal. I mean, you need to use the special cream, but she gets that way sometimes, especially now that it’s so hot, and - “ Kurt uses the pause as Rachel interrupts Blaine to try to remember how to breathe. He knew how to do it a minute ago. Blaine’s smiling. He focuses on that and on his words. “No, it happens. Give her an oatmeal bath, there are packets in her diaper bag, and let her air dry after. Then lots of cream. Maybe sing her the bunny train song. That’s her favorite right now.”

Blaine bites his lip and looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, or ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ if you don’t know the bunny train one. That’s good, too.”

Kurt breathes in and out, in and out. The world shifts around him, back to something more like normal. She has diaper rash, which has been plaguing her in this weather, but she’s fine. Audrey is fine. She’s fine. And she loves oatmeal baths and Rachel’s singing. She might be uncomfortable, but she’s fine.

“Do you want to talk to her?” Blaine mouths at Kurt after another minute or so of going over specifics and reassuring Rachel.

What Kurt wants to do is talk to Audrey, to make sure she’s okay, to hear her call him Daddy, to be able to scoop her into his arms and smell her hair and prove that she’s all right, but since that’s not possible he just shakes his head. Listening to Rachel and having to assure her this isn’t her fault will only make the situation harder. Blaine smiles at him and does his best to get Rachel off of the phone again.

“She’s okay,” Blaine says as he hands the dark phone back to Kurt.

Kurt nods. “I know.” He does know, in theory, because Blaine thinks she is, and Kurt knows Blaine wouldn’t think so if she weren’t. He _knows_ it’s just diaper rash. He heard the questions, and he trusts Blaine with the answers. He just... wants to see her to be sure. And he can’t.

He looks down at his phone, turns it over in his hands, and slips it into his pocket.

They sit there for a moment in that charming cafe in that cute seaside down, and Kurt feels like he’s in the wrong place. For all that he’s needed to get away, and for all that his husband and best friend is across the table from him, his heart belongs in New York. It belongs with one little girl there, one whose face lights in a smile when he walks in the door, one who makes his heart soar just to think of her, one who exhausts him and challenges him and makes him deal with disgusting substances he’s never wanted to know about and makes him feel love he’s never, ever known. And he’s not with her.

He’s on vacation, and he wants to be, but he’s absolutely in the wrong place.

Finally, Blaine folds up the paper and sets it aside for the next customer. “Are you ready to go?” he asks. “I feel like I’ve been sitting for too long. I’ve got too much energy.”

Kurt takes one last sip of his coffee and stands up. He manages a smile, because he really is glad to be with Blaine, even if being so far from Audrey feels wrong. “Yes,” he says and tries to put his sadness aside. “Let’s keep walking.”

 

_Saturday, 5:30 pm:_

Kurt steps out of the longest shower he may have ever taken in his life. The hotel bathroom is hazy with steam, his muscles feel warm and loose from the intense pounding of the water from the amazing showerhead with its even more amazing water pressure that had cascaded over him to his heart’s delight, and every inch of him is clean and exfoliated to perfection.

There were no clanging pipes, no unexpected spray of cold water when the water heater was tapped out, and no deadline. He had just luxuriated.

He feels like he’s in a _dream_ he’s so happy.

As he wraps a towel around his waist and gets ready to moisturize and primp before they go out to dinner, he hums to himself and decides with satisfaction that he will have to find a way to thank Blaine for taking such a quick shower after they got back so that Kurt could take as long as he liked.

Dipping his fingertips into a small jar of one of his favorite products, Kurt grins a little in the mirror and dabs on his first layer of face cream.

Maybe they can share a shower later together, he thinks. The hotel’s water heaters won’t run out, after all.

 

_Saturday, 9:45 pm:_

It is the most beautiful night ever in the history of the world. The sky is beautiful. The street is beautiful. The trees are beautiful. Kurt, oh, god, Kurt is _beautiful_.

“You’re beautiful,” Blaine tells him, because he _is_. He’s wearing a pale linen jacket and the most gorgeous tapestry vest and a slim tie and even slimmer pants and his hair is flawless and his skin is flawless and his _eyes_ are - 

“How many beers did you _have_?” Kurt interrupts with a laugh, his arm around Blaine’s waist the warmest and most wonderful thing in the beautiful, beautiful world, besides the rest of Kurt, of course. “I wasn’t paying attention, but I would have sworn it wasn’t that many.”

Blaine tries to remember. There’d been the first one over dinner, and then they’d stayed to hear the jazz show, and... “Two? Maybe three, but I didn’t finish the third one. Less than three.” He’s captivated by Kurt’s smile, all wide and open and not at all reserved, and Blaine _loves_ that about him, loves that he gets to see it, god, he loves Kurt so much, his world is filled with hearts, so many hearts, he just wants to draw them and type them and - “I less than three you, Kurt. I totally and completely less than three you.”

“Okay, Blaine.” Kurt rubs Blaine’s side and steers him around a lamppost in front of their hotel. Hey, they’re at their hotel! “I less than three you, too.”

“I just love you,” Blaine tells him, nuzzling into his shoulder as they walk through the front door. “I love you so much. I love you. I want to do everything with you.”

“Let’s concentrate on walking for now. We’re almost there.”

“ _Everything_ ,” Blaine says, because it’s important that Kurt knows. “And I mean all of the good stuff. I want to show you. I want to kiss every inch of your body. I want to strip you down and worship you. I want to suck you off for hours. I want to rim you ‘til you’re begging me for more. I want you to fuck me ‘til I’m - “

“And here we are!” Kurt says loudly. “And we are not traumatizing our neighbors with this very inappropriate list so we won’t get kicked out of the hotel early!” He leans Blaine against the very nice wall and pulls something from his pocket.

Blaine can see Kurt’s cheeks flushing, and he says with a frown, “Why is love inappropriate? I _love_ you, and that’s why I want to do _everything_ with you - “

Kurt gets the door open and pulls Blaine inside, steadying him. “Yes, yes, I know, but right now it’s time for you to _sleep_ with me.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Blaine tells him, trying unsuccessfully to grab hold of Kurt’s hand as he leads Blaine toward the bed. But that’s okay, because _bed_! And Kurt!

“And I’m saying you need to close your eyes and sleep this off.”

“But it’s early. And I want you.” Blaine wants him so much his _hands_ hurt that he’s not touching him.

Kurt very gently pushes on Blaine’s chest and topples him onto the bed. Blaine reaches for him and utterly misses. “You have me. Just sleep,” Kurt tells him, and as the mattress rushes up to catch Blaine he thinks Kurt has the best ideas ever, because wow, being horizontal is amazing, and the mattress is amazing, and Kurt is amazing, and closing his eyes is _amazing_.

“You have the best ideas ever,” he tells Kurt as his shoes and tie magically remove themselves and his pants are unbuttoned and slipped off of him. The world swirls and spins in the best way possible, because he’s safe in this bed with Kurt.

“I’ve known you a long time.” Kurt brushes his fingers through Blaine’s hair. “I know what you need right now.”

Blaine feels like he could start singing, though he’s forgotten the words to every single song in the world. “You take such good care of me.”

“It’s because I less than three you,” Kurt murmurs in reply, and Blaine holds onto the smile in Kurt’s voice with both hands as he sinks down into the mattress and gets lost inside.

 

_Sunday, 2:50 am:_

Blaine rolls out of bed and is part-way across their apartment before he bumps into a dresser in the middle of the hallway and remembers he’s in a hotel. Right. He stumbles in the proper direction and is surprised to find when he’s made his way to the bathroom that he’s dressed in his dress shirt and underwear.

His tongue is fuzzy, and his head feels wobbly on his shoulders. To his horror, he remembers vaguely something about propositioning Kurt for sex somewhere that was definitely not in their hotel room, and he thumps his head sadly against the wall before stripping off his shirt and taking care of his full bladder.

In college, he’d developed a better tolerance for alcohol through hard work and a lot of heavy lifting of beer bottles with friends, but, really, he’s never been able to hold his beer. It’s kind of pathetic.

He’ll have to apologize in the morning. He hopes Kurt isn’t too angry. Blaine really should have known better, but he was having such a good night. There was good music and good food, and most of all Kurt, looking so handsome and relaxed across the table from him, full of conversation and flirtatious glances. It wasn’t quite like they had been before Audrey, when they’d been able to do that sort of thing whenever they’d wanted, but in a way it was better, because they knew just how special it was.

And then Blaine ruined the night for him.

Blaine drinks a big glass of water, makes his way back to bed, and crawls in as quietly as he can. Kurt, who was never a great sleeper even before Audrey arrived, often up before dawn as his busy mind woke before the birds, rolls toward him, slipping an arm over Blaine’s waist.

“Okay?” Kurt asks him, the word barely formed in his mouth.

“Fine,” Blaine says, stroking his back. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm. You get some water?”

“Yes. Thank you for putting the glass there.” Blaine kisses Kurt’s hair, still stiff with product but delightfully disarrayed with sleep, and almost wishes Kurt weren’t so nice to him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s the one who got _drunk_ when they were supposed to be having a romantic night, the kind of night Kurt should have had. “Shh. Sleep.”

“Hmm,” Kurt agrees, and he nuzzles against Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine knows he should stay awake to dwell on his faults and find a way to make up for them, but Kurt’s quiet, steady breathing so close to Blaine’s ear, another gift Blaine doesn’t deserve, pulls Blaine right back into sleep with him.

 

_Sunday, 6:05 am_

Kurt rolls onto his back and opens his eyes for a moment. His limbs are heavy with sleep, but the early morning sun is streaming through the cracks between the curtains, and he sighs with stirring wakefulness. He should sleep some more, he knows, but he went to bed early. He’ll be fine on this much; it’s more than he gets most nights, anyway. If he gets up now he can have a cup of coffee on the patio before the other guests wake up, even before Blaine, just him and the ocean.

Not that staying in bed doesn’t sound good, especially with Blaine warm beside him, but he’s never liked lying in bed unable to sleep, and his mind always seems to start whirring with the sunlight. He just doesn’t want to lie here and obsess about things.

He sighs and stretches his barely responsive arms over his head, smiling with amusement and a little exasperation as Blaine curls into the space beside him where his arm had been and gets his head on Kurt’s chest. Well, he hates to disturb Blaine. He can lie here with the human limpet for a few minutes longer. He drops his arms again, one sliding automatically around Blaine’s shoulders where it always seems to fit best, and prepares to doze a little. Maybe it will work, he thinks, since he feels so warm and sluggish. He might be able to sleep for once.

Blaine doesn’t lie still, though. Instead he squirms downwards, pushes up Kurt’s shirt, and presses a warm kiss to Kurt’s bare stomach, just firmly enough that it doesn’t tickle. Then he does it again, a little lower, a little more deliberate, with a touch of tongue and a puff of hot breath to ruffle the fine hair there.

Kurt’s morning erection wakes up even more.

“Good morning,” he says softly, a little confused but not unhappily so. Blaine does like morning sex, after all.

“Shh,” Blaine tells him, burrowing his head beneath the covers. “It’s too early. You should be sleeping.”

“Wh- _ha_ \- “ Kurt’s breath punches out of him as Blaine pushes down his pajama bottoms and mouths at his erection, licking over the head a few luxurious times before taking him into his mouth. Blaine isn’t forceful, but he’s not shy or slow, just sets to work, and Kurt can feel the blood rushing from his head as his cock swells to full hardness in Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine works him in and out, in and out, sloppy and drowsy but so sweetly, so perfectly that all Kurt can do is get his hands in Blaine’s hair and hold on, tugging a little bit here and there to get Blaine to just the right angle where Kurt could happily thrust into his mouth if only it wouldn’t take so much effort. The covers are so warm, touching him everywhere, and it’s like _Blaine_ is touching him everywhere, draped over him and just barely holding him down, the only part of him moving his cock in Blaine’s so very talented mouth.

“Oh,” Kurt moans, barely a whisper, because Blaine used to take care of him this way in college sometimes, blow him when he was just waking up because it was the best way to keep his insomniac, stressed-out self in bed, and he’d forgotten just how much he loves the way his body can strain for his orgasm even as every muscle wants to melt into the mattress with the sure suction of Blaine’s mouth.

He rolls his head on the pillow, a feeble gesture of need, and lets Blaine just take him apart. It’s not like he has a choice, not without stopping him completely, and there’s no way he’s going to stop that imprecise but steady bob of Blaine’s head and wet, eager swirl of his tongue.

Blaine, like always, can read his body, and sucks him harder, hums a little around him - a hoarse and happy sound like he’s loving this just as much, which simply is not possible, it isn’t, not when Kurt’s the one who is half asleep and half on fire - and strokes him just the right way, not too hard, not too fast, just slippery and tight and dirty. He keeps going, steadily working him with his tongue and lips, taking him down deep and pulling back to do it again and again, and he doesn’t stop even when Kurt’s hips hitch up at the end, riding into him jerkily and coming, coming, so hard but landing so soft with Blaine’s mouth there to lick him clean.

“Oh,” Kurt says again, still shaking as Blaine crawls up beside him, gently putting his clothes back into place.

Blaine’s breathing hard, his eyes dark, but he says with a kind smile, “Go back to sleep, Kurt.”

“But - “

“Shh.” Blaine gives him the longest, softest, most tender kiss Kurt could possibly have imagined, and Kurt’s almost caught in sleep’s tantalizing web before his mouth is his own again.

“My turn to take care of you,” he hears Blaine whisper with what sounds like pride before he lets go entirely.

 

_Sunday, 8:00 am:_

Kurt rises into wakefulness again stiff, overheated, and squinting against the bright glare of light in his eyes. He feels antsy, like he’s slept for too long, too late, and too much in one position, and he kicks the covers off his feet and tries to roll onto his back and out of the blinding sunlight.

He can’t move, and he pushes against the arm trapping him for a second before he opens annoyed eyes.

And then he can’t move for a different reason, because there’s Blaine’s face on the pillow near him, relaxed and happy in repose, the growing laugh lines around his eyes smoothed out and his hair dark and curly against the white sheets. He looks so young and content, and Kurt’s heart squeezes to remember the first time he saw him this way, the tenth, the hundredth, back when it wasn’t a given that they’d get to wake up together every morning. He used to wake with a thrill and spend long minutes memorizing every line of Blaine’s resting face to add to all he knew of his expressive, alert one. The morning used to be one of his favorite things about being able to spend the night together.

It’s easy to take it for granted, since they’ve been living together for so long; Blaine in bed is hardly a novel sight anymore. Really, though, it isn’t a given that they get to wake up together now, either, not with Audrey waking one or both of them at all hours. They never sleep in, not both of them at the same time. They’re told when she’s a teenager they’ll miss these days, but Kurt has missed this, too, the ability to lie in Blaine’s arms with nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to do. Neither of them has ever been much good at relaxing; being able to do it together is an uncommon gift.

Blaine lets out a long sigh in his sleep, his mouth curving into a hint of a smile.

He used to do that, too, Kurt remembers. He’d always liked to think it was because of him.

Maybe he can stay in bed a little longer, Kurt thinks contentedly, no matter how his body is protesting the way he’s arranged on the hotel’s overly soft mattress, because he gets to be in bed with Blaine.

He should enjoy all of it, not just the parts that end in orgasms.

Kurt shifts his weight until he’s comfortable, slides the blanket down off of his shoulder - and if it bares some of Blaine’s nicely shaped arm in the process, well, that’s a happy by-product of not wanting to be too warm - presses his cheek into his own pillow, and watches Blaine sleep.

It takes a long, heart-filling time until his own eyes drift shut again.

 

_Sunday, 9:25 am:_

Years of experience have taught Blaine not to engage Kurt in sensitive topics before he’s had his first cup of coffee if it can be any way avoided; he still remembers the morning in college they came perilously close to breaking up over a conversation about _America’s Next Top Model_ , of all things. Neither of them is as his best without an infusion of caffeine.

So he waits until Kurt has eaten a slice of multigrain toast and has accepted a refill of his coffee from the server in the hotel’s breakfast room before Blaine puts down his own cup and says, “I’m sorry about what happened last night.” It comes out rather tentatively, but then he’s not happy about doing anything to ruin the wonderful weekend they’re having.

Kurt takes a slow sip of coffee, a sure sign that he’s pausing to think, frowns a bit, and asks, “What happened last night?”

“The, um - “ Blaine rubs at the back of his neck. “Me. Drinking too much. I’m sorry about that. About doing it, and _saying_ \- “

Kurt’s cheeks color in an instant, but instead of getting angry he laughs. “It’s okay.”

“But, um - I mean, I don’t remember a lot, but I’m pretty sure I got out of line. Maybe not with _you_ , I hope not with you, but where we were, and maybe - “

Pressing his knee to Blaine’s beneath the table, Kurt says kindly, “It’s okay, Blaine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?” It’s like Kurt’s words have attached themselves like balloons to the weight on Blaine’s chest and are carrying it away. He _never_ wants to disappoint Kurt, and if he ruined their one vacation because he was too thoughtless to know his limits -

Kurt just smiles at him again and reaches for his coffee. “I love you,” he says. “I’ve been aware of about your mildly destructive relationship with beer for a _long_ time now. And I think our neighbors must have earplugs.” He rubs his leg against Blaine’s in what feels like a gesture of comfort.

Blaine grabs a piece of toast from the basket, smiling to himself. “Okay,” he says in relief as the world sorts itself out again and falls back into its usual easy order. “Okay.” He takes a small bite from the corner and chews it quickly so that he can ask his next question. “So what do you want to do this morning? Do you still want to look into that sailboat tour?”

“No,” Kurt says, tipping his head to the side in apology. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’d like to have a quiet morning instead, just lounging. We could walk into town to try that crepe place for lunch.”

“That sounds great,” Blaine admits, because as much as he’ll do whatever Kurt wants he’s really been enjoying those moments where they don’t have to do so much for a change. He doesn’t mind having more of them.

Draining his cup, Kurt raises his hand to flag down the server again. “But first I need more coffee. I may appreciate the beauty of a delicate piece of fine bone china, but even _I_ think there’s a lot to be said for having a big mug and not needing as many refills.”

Blaine leans back in his chair and says without any bite, “Maybe you could ask her to leave the whole pot.”

Kurt shoots him a glance out of the side of his eyes and says, “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I _know_ you will.” Blaine knows Kurt well enough that he fears for the server’s ears if she doesn’t come over quickly enough.

But she does, and Kurt doesn’t have to resort to snapping his fingers or decimating people with his words, and after he has his coffee and another piece of toast in him he looks over at Blaine and says, “I’m having a good vacation.” Kurt smiles at him, all happiness, and Blaine sees no reason to doubt him.

So he smiles back over the rim of his coffee cup and says, “I am, too.”

 

_Sunday, 10:45 am:_

The sun slants across their private patio, the bright, golden light falling in the perfect angle on Blaine’s book so that he can read on his stomach on the lounge chair without too much glare in his eyes or need to worry about sunburn.

Well, it’ll be Kurt who worries about sunburn, like he worries about his dad’s diet or Audrey’s growth chart even when their doctors are happy, but when Blaine looks up at him Kurt doesn’t seem worried at all right now.

He’s just sitting in the sunlight, all long and lean in slim pale yellow jeans and a simple white shirt. His hair glints with gold and red as he moves subtly in the beams with each breath he takes, and the line of his nose carries a slight flush of pink that will turn into a scattering of freckles if Blaine is very lucky.

Blaine looks at him, and he just has to stop for a second.

Kurt’s undeniably appealing to Blaine’s eyes, but then he always is. Always, even when he’s stressed or covered with baby food or so tired he can barely focus his eyes, Blaine’s always drawn to him. This Kurt, the Kurt who looks like he should be on the cover of a vacation magazine with his perfect hair and wedding ring catching the sunlight, almost doesn’t look real, but Blaine knows deep in his gut that if he put down his book and went over to him Kurt would smile, would open his arms, wouldn’t be an elegant, untouchable dream in that golden nimbus but would somehow be solid and warm and his.

 _His_.

Blaine shakes his head a little. It’s not the first time Blaine has seen Kurt and been blown away by him, and it won’t be the last, he’s sure. Because Kurt is Kurt, he’s always incredible. He’s always talented and handsome and incomprehensibly special. And somehow he’s married to Blaine.

Kurt turns his head, a smile rising on his face even before he sees Blaine watching him. “Hi,” he says softly.

A part of Blaine wants to go over there and kiss him, show him, love him, do everything in his power to be as close to him as possible, because he gets the feeling that he’s never really going to be over just how dazzled he is by Kurt some days. No, not just some days, maybe it’s all of the time, only a lot of the time they’re too busy just living their lives and going to work and caring for Audrey for him to be able to pay attention to the part of him that will always be a boy in a blazer blown away by his best friend’s song.

But he’s comfortable, his book is good, and Kurt looks half-drawn into his own reading even while looking at him. Blaine would happily go over and kiss him, but if this is how he feels all of the time, he doesn’t have to act on it every minute. Just being with him, that’s incredible, too.

So he rests his chin on his hand and says with all of the love in his heart, “Hi to you.”

Kurt’s mouth curls up a bit more as he goes back to his reading, and after a minute Blaine drops his eyes to his own page and joins him.

 

_Sunday, 11:50 am:_

While Kurt finishes up in front of the mirror, Blaine pats his pockets for a second, sure that he’s missing something, even though he has his phone and wallet. His keys are in his suitcase, the room key is in his wallet, and he doesn’t need anything else, so what is he missing?

It takes him a second.

 _Oh_. He rolls his eyes at himself.

Audrey’s favorite pacifier is safely with her, at Rachel’s.

“Ready?” Kurt asks, and Blaine ignores the tug in his heart as he joins him.

 

_Sunday, 1:15 pm:_

“Stop!” Kurt says, laughing, as Blaine turns them toward the light, gets an arm around his shoulders, and lifts his phone up in front of them. “I haven’t even bought them yet.”

“But you will,” Blaine tells him.

Kurt can’t argue with that, because the sunglasses are _perfect_ , and he definitely isn’t going to leave the shop without them. He bites his lip to try to keep his smile to a reasonable level as Blaine flicks to his camera app. “They still have the tag on them.”

“So we are commemorating the joy of finding them. And it’s on the side; you won’t even see it.” Blaine pushes the button so that the display reflects their faces, and Kurt tilts his head to a more flattering angle and admires the glasses. Oh, yes, they’re definitely coming home with him.

“Ready?” Blaine asks, and Kurt composes just the right smile and makes a sound of agreement, and then just when Blaine’s thumb is hovering over the button to take the picture, Blaine grins and presses his mouth firmly to Kurt’s cheek as the shutter goes off.

“Blaine!”

“Perfect!” Blaine says happily, and Kurt leans in to see what Blaine actually captured, since it wasn’t the glamour shot they’d originally framed.

Instead of him looking poised and magazine-ready, Kurt looks startled and delighted, his mouth opening on his laugh. Blaine’s smiling, his eyes closed.

Kurt sighs a little and tips his head against Blaine’s for a second; he can’t be annoyed. It’s hardly the first shot they’ve taken that looks almost exactly like that one over the years, but it’s definitely a good one. They look relaxed and happy, in love. It looks like them, what he thinks they look like even when all facts like uncombed hair, early morning irritability, or dark under-eye circles indicate otherwise. No, this is just them at ease with each other, the sort of picture that’s always in his mind’s eye, at least when he’s not imagining them in elaborate couture fashion spreads.

“I’m making this one my new lock screen,” Blaine says, scrolling through the options to set it.

“Send it to me?” Kurt asks. He adjusts the glasses on his nose and looks in the display’s mirror again. He turns from side to side and lifts his chin. They’re still perfect in profile, too, he’s pleased to see.

“Sure. Although I’m not expecting you to replace the one of Aud with the ducks at the park as _your_ lock screen.”

“I might keep it ‘til she’s fifteen,” Kurt agrees, because she is so _cute_ holding out that piece of bread to them with her face lit up in one of her biggest smiles. His heart lifts every time he turns on his phone. It always makes him want to scoop her up and give her a kiss, even when he’s busy at work, even when she’s screaming in anger right beside him, even now. Especially right now, when as happy as he is it feels like he’s left something important behind, and not just the Carolina Herrera sweater sample he’d scooped up for Blaine and forgotten to pack.

Kurt slips off the glasses, his mood falling a little at his next thought, but he can’t make himself push it aside anymore. “Maybe you should send the one of us to Rachel, too? For Aud?” He turns toward Blaine as he carefully folds in the ear pieces. “She might like to see us.”

“We’ll be home tomorrow, Kurt,” Blaine says, entirely reasonably.

“I know,” Kurt replies, “but we’re not there now.” And this will calm that little whispering worry inside of him that she’s forgetting them or worried about them, that she wants to know they’re okay, too, only she doesn’t know the words to ask. He knows in the rational part of his mind that it’ll probably only make things harder for her to see them, but being a parent has made him less rational than he usually likes to admit. He waits for Blaine to call him on it.

Instead, after a moment of studying him, Blaine nods and sends the picture as a text. “All set.” He gives Kurt a comforting, sympathetic smile, like maybe he understands. Maybe he’s feeling it too, if not as strongly - because Kurt will always worry more, not care more but _worry_ more, he has to, he had to take care of his dad for so long and has never learned how not to worry about people he loves - or maybe he just understands Kurt that well that he doesn’t see any need to question him, but either way it’s a relief.

Kurt nods his thanks, a little awkward at how such a small thing can mean so much to him and help settle his inner voices.

Still smiling, Blaine extends his elbow in a courtly gesture and says, “Now shall we buy those glasses?”

Kurt takes it and says, partly because it wasn’t that ugly but mostly because it’s a way to take care of Blaine in return, “Only if we go back to look at that sailboat picture you are sure you will look so perfect in our bathroom.”

 

_Sunday, 1:25 pm:_

“Every little thing he does is magic,” Blaine sings along with the music spilling out of the little ice cream shop they just passed, walking backwards and leading Kurt down the sidewalk by the hand. “Everything he do just turns me on.”

Laughing and only a little flushed because there are _children_ around - but then when has Blaine really cared about the audience for lyrics when he was serenading someone? - Kurt is aware of the other tourists’ eyes on them, because Blaine has always been able to make a lovely spectacle of himself, but he’s content to be at the center of it. He’s always loved it, always loved having this kind of attention from Blaine.

“Even though my life before was tragic,” Blaine continues, his heart in his eyes, releasing his hand so that he can swing gracefully around a lamppost and drop back in front of him, “now I know my love for him goes on...”

Kurt just smiles and lets Blaine take his hand again as Blaine’s light-hearted dancing carries them down the street.

 

_Sunday, 3:10 pm:_

“ - but we have two incomes again, and if we put at least half of mine aside we can redo the bathroom like we’ve wanted to since we moved in,” Blaine says, digging his toes into the hot sand beyond the beach towel he’s lying on.

Kurt lies perfectly still on his own towel, his head tipped toward Blaine and his eyes hidden behind his flattering new glasses, only a little flutter behind the amber lenses betraying the fact that he’s looking at Blaine at all. “You know I dream every night of a rain showerhead and tumbled limestone instead of that horrible tile, but shouldn’t we use that money for Aud? Preschool isn’t cheap, even that co-op we like, and then there’s private school and college and - “

“I think we can do both,” Blaine insists. “I mean, her education is really important, I agree, but if we draw up a budget - “

“We still owe my dad for that loan we took from him to cover some of the surrogacy expenses,” Kurt reminds him.

“He’s told me he never expects us to pay that back, Kurt, not until we’re both completely established,” Blaine says. “Hasn’t he said that to you?”

Kurt’s voice goes a little more strained. “Yes, but it doesn’t seem right to - “

Blaine reaches out across the sand between their towels and puts his hand on Kurt’s bare, sun-warmed arm. “We don’t have to do the bathroom, but maybe when we get home we should make a budget and see what we think.”

Kurt is still for a long moment, and then he breathes out a sigh and says, “We could at least see if there is a way to re-plumb to put in the showerhead and replace that vinyl floor with tile.”

“I could take a class on tile laying at the home improvement store down in - “

Tipping his glasses down his nose so that he can look Blaine right in the eye, Kurt says firmly, “If either of us is going to be putting in tile it’s going to be me.”

“We could do it together,” Blaine suggests, thinking of Kurt all dressed down in a sweat-damp white T-shirt and worn jeans, his eyes sharp in concentration, dust in his hair and the muscles in his arms flexing as he trowels on grout or plaster or glue or whatever it is you use with tile and - 

“Are you fantasizing about me being dirty again?” Kurt asks, his voice thick with amusement. 

“Maybe I was thinking about how good the floor would look if we tiled it,” Blaine says, and since he knows Kurt won’t believe a word of it, it doesn’t actually count as a lie at all.

Kurt shoots him a look, clearly fully aware of what Blaine is doing, before his eyes go a little dreamy above his sunglasses. “I keep thinking about something in the dark honey tones, with - “

 

_Sunday, 4:30 pm:_

“Should I wear a tie tonight?” Blaine asks, halfway inside the hotel room’s closet.

“I don’t know,” Kurt replies. He’s still out on the patio, brushing the sand off of his feet. “Where do you want to go? You know I never turn down a reason to dress for dinner.”

“Then I’ll wear a tie.” Blaine disappears entirely behind the closet’s small door.

Smiling to himself at the thought of what he might get to wear, Kurt dusts off the last of the fine sand and steps inside, pulling the doors shut and drawing the translucent sheers against the afternoon sun and any prying eyes. He lays his folded beach towel on top of Blaine’s on the little side table and walks over toward the dresser with his sunglasses in hand.

As Kurt rounds the closet door, Blaine turns around toward him and says, “Would you like to shower first? Either way is fine with me. I don’t want to rush you.”

And something changes for Kurt. The world shifts. Blaine’s not doing anything special; he’s just standing there in swim trunks and a plain t-shirt, his feet bare and his hair roughly combed down by his fingers, two ties held lightly in one hand, his eyes easy on Kurt’s.

But still something changes, and Kurt stares at him, his breath gone, because this - he doesn’t think he takes Blaine for granted, he loves him so much and is aware of it every day, but -

Blaine is just standing there, but suddenly for Kurt he isn’t the man he lives with who knows how he takes his coffee, he isn’t the man who can get Audrey to burp or who can charm the super to fix their air conditioning _again_ , he isn’t the man who brings home pizza on Fridays or who always forgets to put the cap on the toothpaste or who once stayed in the bathroom with Kurt for more than twenty-four hours straight while Kurt suffered through the worst and most violent stomach virus he has ever had.

He’s just _Blaine_ , not the husband, not the dependable partner, not the person who knows him best. He’s _Blaine_ , who is all of these things, all of these wonderful things that tie him together with Kurt, but who is also _himself_ , his own separate person, a living, breathing man who doesn’t have to be there, who could be anywhere but at Kurt’s side, but he’s right there, right with him, caring for him, loving him, and giving everything to him.

Usually Kurt looks at Blaine and sees the other half of himself, because they’ve been together so long that it’s a given that they’re a unit, the two of them against the world, and right then Kurt looks at him and sees them as two complete wholes in the same room, two individual people, not Kurt-and-Blaine, but Kurt-the-man here and Blaine-the-man there, two completely separate people. They take up their own space, they breathe their own air, and they live their own lives. They’re planets who have decided to revolve together around the same sun.

Kurt usually thinks of them as two people linked together, but they’re actually two people standing apart.

He takes a shaky breath and feels his pulse start to race.

It’s not scary; it’s the exact opposite. It’s wonderful, actually, because even if there’s a sort of strange emotional vertigo in it Kurt can stand there and see Blaine and _love_ him, not love the partnership that they have built - though obviously he loves that, too - but love the person. Kurt can love Blaine. He does love Blaine, he does, he loves everything about him, even the things he’d change if he could do it secretly and without backlash (like the toothpaste cap issue), and it’s different from loving _them_ and being a part of the marriage. It’s loving _Blaine_ , the person, the special, individual, independent person who is standing right there on the carpet a few yards away with sand still on his feet and a tie with anchors on it in his hand and eyebrows that are maybe a little bit too large and are drawing together like he’s confused.

And Kurt knows what those eyebrows mean, because he’s been a part of Kurt-and-Blaine long enough to be able to read every nuance of Blaine’s face, but as he stands there with what feels like an ocean of carpet between them and nothing tying them together but their hearts he feels too far away, he feels like as much as they are their own people the only place he wants to be is as close to him as possible, because if they’re their own people Kurt can give his whole self to love Blaine. He can give his separate self to Blaine’s separate self, not mix them together within and strengthen this partnership they’ve created, but _give_ himself. He can give all of himself, every bit, can throw himself at Blaine and get lost in him for a little while, not lost in the partnership, not lost in _them_ , but lost in _him_. And he wants to, not just because he loves his husband, but because he loves _Blaine_ , he loves the person he is, the same true way he has since that first meeting on a staircase so long ago.

“There you are,” he murmurs, holding out his hand to Blaine, the heart-stopping boy of the past, the steady man of the present, the bright hope of the future.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, but he puts his free hand in Kurt’s.

Kurt takes the step forward, closing the space between them. “I’ve missed you,” he says, and he smiles a little at Blaine’s confusion.

But he has missed him, because it’s been so long that Blaine’s been his partner that he’d forgotten that he could feel this way, too, so apart from him that all that he wants to do is be together. It’s a comfortable sort of longing now, not tinged with the hardship and heartbreak of the past, the threat of rejection or the lack of understanding. He just wants him. He wants to be with him, because he’s Blaine, and he’s breathtaking.

“Come take a shower with me?” he asks softly. “And then come to bed?”

Blaine searches his face, clearly not quite understanding, but his eyes melt, anyway, and he reaches out to drape the ties over the door handle. “With pleasure,” he tells Kurt.

 

_Sunday, 4:50 pm:_

Given the look on Kurt’s face - determined and focused - Blaine pretty much expects to be fucked up against the wall in the shower, but although he’s totally open to that, Kurt’s hands are gentle on him as they kiss for what feels like forever under the streaming water before Kurt reaches for the shampoo and gets the misplaced sand and sunscreen out of Blaine’s hair and lets Blaine do the same in return. It’s all very intense under the muffling spray, every touch a slow fire on Blaine’s skin, but it doesn’t go anywhere serious, no matter that they’re both naked and hard and breathing heavily, and by the time they’re out again, towel-dried, and Kurt is leading him to the bed Blaine’s not sure what’s going on.

He’s not complaining, but he doesn’t quite understand.

“I love you,” is all Kurt says, his smile dazzling, before he kisses Blaine again and pulls him onto the bed with him.

The smile is good, the kisses are better, and being able to roll them so that Kurt’s under him, all of that bare, damp skin against his, is amazing. So yeah, no complaints at all.

“I love you, too, Kurt,” Blaine says against Kurt’s throat, anyway, because even if he feels like he may never have a full grasp on the mercurial miracle that is Kurt Anderson-Hummel he’s learned there’s still a lot to be said for keeping him talking.

Kurt looks up at him with those incredible eyes of his, clear as the sky and just as endless, and says calmly, “Then don’t hold back.”

Blaine dips his head to kiss Kurt’s throat again, getting an enticing gasp and a toe-curling thrust of Kurt’s hips against his for his trouble, and says, “I never can with you.” It’s not true, though, because so much of his life is holding back these days. He can’t kiss Kurt breathless on the couch whenever he wants to or suck him off before dinner when he’s looking particularly hot or even give him the good morning kiss he deserves, because there is always their daughter or their schedule or their neighbors to think about. He has to hold back quite a bit.

But there isn’t any reason to right now, and Kurt seems to agree, because the gentleness in his touch from the shower is gone, and he kisses back just as fiercely, pulls him just as close with hands that are just as greedy as Blaine’s, devours Blaine and lets Blaine devour him back, a struggle that’s anything but antagonistic while each of them tries to get as much and as close as possible.

And there isn’t much closer than having Kurt wrapped around him, pinned beneath him, his arms around Blaine’s neck, his legs around Blaine’s hips, his cock rubbing against Blaine’s, their panting breaths mingling as Blaine holds him tightly and they kiss and kiss and kiss, hard, harder, until it almost hurts and it isn’t enough and it’s too much and it’s everything.

“Love you, love you,” Blaine says, almost claustrophobic with how much he wants Kurt as Kurt pushes him onto his back and gets his mouth back on him, on Blaine’s throat, over his chest, down his stomach, and back up again to find his lips once more.

“Yes,” Kurt says, smiling right at him, so wide and devastatingly full of his enormous heart that even now Blaine can’t quite believe is all his.

“But, uh - “ Blaine winces a little as Kurt gets his weight down on him, rocking his erection against Blaine’s hip. “Can we get - “ He swallows a little desperately and catches his hands in Kurt’s hair to kiss him again. Strangely, it’s enough to center him that he can put together a full sentence. “Should we get some lube to make things a little easier?” He tips his hips in illustration, the damp skin of their bodies chafing a little more than he’d like.

Kurt blinks some of the hazy lust out of his eyes and cups Blaine’s cheek with one hand. He kisses him softly, pulls back a few inches, and says, “I was hoping you’d fuck me. If you’d like to.”

There’s a question in his voice that Blaine doesn’t understand, because the answer to it is always and forever yes, even though it’s not something they choose to do that often in either direction these days, given the time it requires.

And yet there’s still a question there.

So Blaine tries to think beyond the _yesyesyesyesyesyes_ of his body and says, “Of course I want to. I want _you_.”

It’s apparently the right answer, because he catches Kurt’s delighted grin before Kurt’s leaning precariously over him to open the drawer of the nightstand. He pulls out the black leather bag he houses his travel earplugs and eye mask in, as well as the lube and condoms, and while he’s sorting out what they need Blaine takes advantage of the position to mouth along the soft skin of the inside of Kurt’s arm. Kurt lets out a shocked laugh and swats at him, but Blaine just holds onto his elbow and keeps kissing him, because every inch of Kurt should be kissed. It’s like a law of nature, as far as Blaine is concerned.

“Blaine, that tickles,” Kurt says as he tries to pull that arm away and yet keep digging in the zippered bag.

“Hmm.” Blaine kisses him again as if he’s testing it and feels Kurt’s arm twitch in response. “Doesn’t tickle me.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I see in you.”

“That’s not very nice,” Blaine teases back, pressing what he knows is a too-soft kiss in the bend of Kurt’s elbow to get him to squirm again.

Kurt swings back toward him instead and says with a sort of inscrutable intensity, “You’re right. Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t - “ Blaine starts, because he doesn’t want Kurt to think that he’s in any way seriously hurt.

“I insist.” Kurt pulls the lube out of his bag with a sound of triumph. “Sit up against the headboard.” He smooths his hand up Blaine’s chest and loses the trappings of command in his tone and posture. “Please?” he asks. He’s still direct, his chin is still high, but to Blaine’s eyes it’s like a remembered gesture, that bravery in the face of doubt when something is very important to him. He’s seen it so many times before, but it’s been years since it’s been directed at him.

Blaine doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, because he doesn’t know why there would be any doubt between them, not when they’ve been a _them_ for so long.

Still, there’s no part of Kurt he doesn’t love, even the parts he doesn’t always understand, so he catches Kurt’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, saying, “I just want _you_ , Kurt.”

Kurt relaxes a hair, his shoulders dropping. “And I want you,” he replies.

Blaine smiles at him and scoots back against the headboard, arranging the pillows while Kurt pulls down some of the bedding and crawls up toward him. Any flagging of Blaine’s erection from the conversation is swiftly reversed as soon as Kurt’s slipping up into his lap, straddling his thighs with his long legs and pressing in close, his arms around Blaine’s neck and his mouth finding Blaine’s immediately.

Whatever tentativeness had bloomed in him is gone again, and Blaine doesn’t so much struggle to keep up with him as find himself desperate to do so, getting his hands in Kurt’s hair and holding him there so he can’t pull away, kissing him again and again, long and deep and with all of the fervor he has burning inside of him each and every day for this amazing person he loves so much.

He feels like he could stay here forever, wrapped up in him, caught up in him.

“Blaine,” Kurt finally says, his voice rough with need. He shifts above him and reaches for the lube he’d dropped on the bed.

“Anything,” Blaine tells him. He takes in Kurt’s flushed cheeks, his dark eyes, the messy tuft of his hair and thinks _everything_. God, everything, he’ll take every part of him.

He expects Kurt to hand him the tube and slick him open, but instead Kurt flips the cap, rubs his cheek in a sweat-sticky slide against Blaine’s that’s just the good side of rough from the faint drag of their whiskers, and says, “Kiss me.”

So Blaine does, because it’s far from a hardship to let Kurt pant into his mouth and press imprecise kisses to his lips as he works himself open. If Blaine might like to see Kurt’s long fingers pushing inside of himself, he’s happy to watch those same actions on his expressive face, the soft drop of jaw as he gets used to the motion, the fluttering of his eyelids as he pushes deeper, the rising flush on his face as he starts to enjoy the stretch, the needy sounds he chokes off as he rocks faster, the catch of teeth on Blaine’s lip as Kurt finds an angle he likes. It’s all beautiful and really, really arousing to Blaine.

Still, it’s hard to have to wait and not be able to touch, and his hands grow restless on Kurt’s face and back, itching to slide further down still and feel exactly what Kurt’s doing to himself. But every time Blaine gets close to where Kurt’s fingers are working, Kurt says, “Kiss me,” all breathy and straining, and Blaine does as he’s told.

Finally Kurt pushes back onto his heels, his eyes shining in satisfaction. He slides his slick hand so slowly down Blaine’s cock, tip to root and back again, and then wipes off his hand on a towel he’d brought from the bathroom while Blaine tries to remember how to have any sort of control, because _god_ , he could come just from that one knowing touch.

“No condom?” Blaine asks as Kurt leans in close again.

“Is that all right?” Kurt’s eyes bore into his from a few inches away; there’s no judgment in them, only desire. “I thought we could do it like this.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine rushes to assure him, because even if it’s messier it’s not like there are any real risks in it for them if they’re careful, and then he’s struggling to breathe again because Kurt’s rising up over him, holding him in place, and slowly, slowly but very steadily sinking down onto his cock.

A raw sound rips out of Blaine’s throat before he can stop it. Kurt is so incredible around him, perfect just like he always is, and there’s nothing between them. There’s nothing to dull the sensations flooding through Blaine, no thin layer of latex to keep them separate and keep his body from overreacting to such a simple connection of two bodies in love. It’s just Kurt, all around him, his weight in Blaine’s lap, his sweat on Blaine’s skin, his gasps in Blaine’s ears, and his body just opening, taking him in.

It’s too much. It’s too much.

Desperate for something to ground him, Blaine looks up into Kurt’s face, and Kurt doesn’t seem any less overwhelmed, his eyes closed as he keeps edging lower and lower without pausing. His expression is distant, like the pace he’s setting is driving him as mad as Blaine, and maybe also a little strained, but then he’s pushing himself faster than they usually do.

“Hey,” Blaine rasps out, rubbing Kurt’s taut thighs. “Hey. Take your time.”

Kurt licks his lower lip and dips his head back further, exposing the long, flushed line of his throat. “No. I want - I want - I need this.” He sounds determined.

“It’s okay,” Blaine tells him with a flare of worry. “Take your time, Kurt. I’m right here.” Buried inside of the burning heat of his body, holding his slim waist, feeling every tremor and hitch of his breath like it’s his own - Oh, god, it’s too much. He needs to move. He tries to think of anything else in the world to distract himself, and he can’t, because the whole world is Kurt.

“I just want to feel you,” Kurt says, and he sinks down further his body takes that much more of him in. He bites his lip and shifts his weight, leaning forward and getting his hands on Blaine’s shoulders. “I want to be close to you.”

“You are.”

Kurt’s head drops forward, his damp hair falling over his forehead. “I know, but I want all of you.”

“I want all of _you_ ,” Blaine whispers, a promise that’s so much bigger than this moment.

Kurt’s smile is radiant, if distracted, and he gasps as he pushes himself down the last little bit.

Blaine has to fight the instinct to thrust upwards, because _god_ , Kurt feels _amazing_ around him - slick, hot, and so wonderfully tight, just exactly right with nothing between them to mute it a bit - and he’s really ready to find a rhythm instead of letting Kurt do it all, but there’s something Kurt wants, and Blaine wants to give it to him, whatever it is. He needs to wait for Kurt.

So he stays there groaning softly with each exhalation, his hands resting on Kurt’s hips, his thumbs tracing down to his thighs and back up again, so near to the erection he really wants to have in his hand, and waits as Kurt’s body clenches and relaxes around him, getting used to him. Kurt’s fingers slowly loosen on his shoulders, and he leans all the way in, as close as he can be, getting his arms around Blaine’s neck and pressing his parted lips to the hinge of Blaine’s jaw.

“Is this okay?” Kurt murmurs, his voice deep with desire.

Blaine nods and strokes over Kurt’s hips, driving himself a little mad. He can barely get any sound out when he speaks. “Anything you want.”

Kurt kisses Blaine’s throat and lifts himself up a little; it’s slow enough that Blaine has to catch himself from making a noise of despair as it feels like Kurt’s pulling away entirely, but then Kurt sinks down and lifts again and again, measured but steady as he adjusts his weight like he’s looking for just the right angle.

And Blaine lets him. Blaine caresses his hips, kisses his hair, and shakes with each incredible motion of Kurt’s body around him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kurt says in Blaine’s ear, the same sort of sound he makes when he’s trying to sort out a difficult problem or has the brilliant brainstorm that requires completely changing the organization of their closets, only it’s colored with a huskiness that goes straight to Blaine’s cock, making it throb inside of him. “Oh,” Kurt says again, mouthing at Blaine’s throat and moving a little faster. “There. Like that.”

“Yeah,” Blaine replies, digging his fingers into the firm muscle of Kurt’s ass and helping guide him, because _yes_ , that’s exactly right. That’s it. That’s perfect, that angle is perfect for him, too, it’s just fucking perfect. He lifts his hips on Kurt’s next downward press and feels it all the way down to his toes and into the hair on his head as it rises on end. “Kurt...”

“Let me. Just hold me close and let me, Blaine,” Kurt tells him.

Blaine’s laugh sounds almost hysterical, since there’s no way he’s going to argue with that. So he kisses Kurt’s cheek, leaves one hand around the sharp bone of his hip to feel the intoxicating flex of his ass while he steadies him, and gets the other into the damp hair at the back of Kurt’s head, keeping him as close as he can.

“Thank you,” Kurt rasps out, almost too sweetly, and mouths a kiss against Blaine’s throat when it should really be Blaine thanking him.

Blaine loses track of time a little as they move together, Kurt’s breath hot against his throat and the skin of his shoulder salt-tinged and familiar against Blaine’s lips. Kurt’s moaning softly, the pitch rising as he drives the pace faster and faster, driving himself harder until his breath is being forced out of him each time he fucks himself down, and Blaine tries to be quiet, tries to pay attention, because it’s so rare these days that Kurt is willing to push himself so hard and take himself apart so thoroughly.

Sex has always been a big deal for Kurt, Blaine knows, and when he lets go entirely he can get lost in it, not leave any part of himself unshaken. It’s always been hard for him to do that to his heart. There’s nothing left untouched, every part of his body and heart is wrung out and shattered, and it isn’t something Blaine knows Kurt can afford most of the time. There’s so much else he needs to be aware of, so many other things that need a piece of him.

Blaine feels honored to be able to see Kurt this way, vulnerable and open, letting himself go entirely in the needs of his body and heart. He feels honored Kurt trusts him so deeply the way he has no one else. And he wants to remember every bit of this moment, every hoarse gasp against his throat, every perfect undulation of Kurt’s body around his, every slick slide of Kurt’s body accepting him, every sweaty press of his chest against Blaine’s when he tucks in close, every flex of his arms around Blaine’s neck, every moan, every whisper, every caught breath each time they get just the right angle.

“Blaine, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, and Blaine just hangs onto him and kisses every bit of skin he can, pets his hair, caresses his back, runs his palms up his thighs and over his ass, and tries to match his thrusts so that every single one is perfect as Kurt works himself so intently to a fevered pitch on Blaine’s body, curled closely around him.

He’s single-minded about it the way he is about everything, absolutely determined to reach his goal, and Blaine fights and fights not to come until Kurt’s gotten exactly what he needs from him and gives it all back in return, because their every single movement is a gift of pleasure and love to Blaine as well.

And when Blaine’s orgasm is so close it’s sizzling down the back of his neck and threatening to rip out of him whether he wants it to or not, he gets his hand between them to wrap around Kurt’s erection and strokes him hard and fast until Kurt bows into him and comes with a cry, triumphant and mournful at the same time. He spills over Blaine’s fingers, onto Blaine’s stomach and chest, and still keeps moving in increasingly disoriented thrusts, like he’s forgotten how to do anything else.

Blaine steadies him as Kurt’s weight starts to list forward and fucks up into him a handful of glorious times. He’s too desperate to pay close attention to Kurt’s aftershocks but feels them all the same in the muscles rippling around his cock, and he finally, finally gets to let go, too.

Kurt makes a soft sound some time later as he edges off of Blaine and reaches for the towel, cleaning Blaine up first with a few gentle swipes before attending to himself. Then he folds onto his side facing Blaine, his expression almost shy.

Blaine turns toward him, tracing Kurt’s mouth with his thumb and cupping the side of his handsome face. “I love you,” he says, not quite happy about breaking the silence but needing to say it all the same.

“I love you, too,” Kurt says. His smile is faint and dreamy, like he’s still scattered in a thousand pieces, but he lifts his mouth for a kiss, and Blaine is more than happy to give one to him. He can feel the fine tremors still running through Kurt’s body through the gentle contact of their lips, so Blaine pulls him close and shuts his eyes as they breathe together.

After a while, Kurt nuzzles at his jaw and says, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Blaine mumbles back, drifting back up from his doze.

Kurt draws the tip of his nose along Blaine’s throat in a soft caress. “Sometimes I remember just how very lucky I am that you’re mine. Thank you for letting me be close to you.”

“You really don’t need to thank me for that,” Blaine replies with a smile, and he wonders why he’s feeling embarrassed and pleased all at once. This is his _husband_ , after all.

“I do.” Kurt presses his lips to Blaine’s chin and gets his weight on his elbow so that he can lift up to kiss the corner of Blaine’s mouth. “I’ll always be grateful for having you,” he says quite seriously.

Blaine strokes fingers through Kurt’s damp hair, a little too overwhelmed to find words to reply.

Kurt smiles then, like a light coming on in the room, as he watches whatever is playing on Blaine’s face, and he tips his head with that soft, loose-limbed grace he gets when he’s his most content. “And you’re lucky to have me, too.”

Blaine’s grin takes him over as fast as his orgasm did and almost as powerfully, his heart flipping in his chest, because he _is_ , absolutely, he’s lucky to have every part of Kurt from his sense of humor to his brilliant mind to the perfect slope of his nose, and he never forgets. “I am,” he agrees. He slips his fingers through Kurt’s and twists Kurt’s wedding ring around his finger. “That’s why I put a ring on it.”

Kurt ducks his head as he starts to laugh, but Blaine doesn’t miss the absolutely delighted sparkle in his eyes. “That’s why we both did,” Kurt says and leans in to kiss him again.

 

_Sunday, 7:55 pm:_

His shoes in one hand and Blaine’s hand in the other, Kurt walks in the smooth, wet sand at the edge of the ocean with his jeans rolled to mid-calf and looks out toward the horizon. The sunset is painting the sky in pinks and oranges like a Baroque ceiling, and the water is gentle as it swirls in around his feet in a soft, foamy wash.

It’s the end of the weekend, and most of the tourists are gone. The beach is empty besides them and a woman far, far ahead walking with a dog prancing in the surf. They left the hotel’s beach chairs in neat rows well behind them; it’s nothing here but houses, the remnants of sandcastles, and the rhythm of the ocean pulling at their feet.

Kurt looks over at Blaine and smiles, feels the gentle thrum of his heart pulling in the same rhythm, steady and forever for him. He feels centered and calm in a way he barely remembers, the usual tempest in his belly for all that he wants from his life entirely quieted. Maybe he’s never felt this way before; it’s certainly not something that happens often around the fire of his ambition and the busyness of his life.

“This has been a wonderful weekend,” he says, drawing Blaine to a halt and leaning in to kiss him, gently but without rushing, as the waves rush in around their bare ankles and try to drag them back out to sea in their retreat. Blaine’s mouth is as sweet as the ocean is salty and is equally as fundamental to the world in Kurt’s eyes, and Kurt savors the kiss, letting it draw itself out and fill him up.

Blaine’s smile is nothing but warmth when they part. He’s wearing a faded and threadbare Dalton t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, his hair barely tamed and his nose red from the sun, his ragged boat shoes in his free hand, and he’s as breathtakingly handsome as Kurt has ever seen him. “It’s been perfect.”

“We should come back,” Kurt says. He feels sentimental and silly, imagines this becoming an annual retreat, maybe asking for the same room and making love in that same bed year after year, reminding them both of what they have, all they’ve shared, and who they are together.

He doesn’t feel the same desperate need for Blaine that he did this afternoon, but as he looks into Blaine’s love-filled eyes he wonders if he should take him back and make love to him again, anyway, one more time, just so they can have one more memory of the world being only the two of them for a little while.

Or maybe they should sit out in the patio, he thinks, curled together on the same lounge chair under a throw, and watch the stars come out. That might be even better.

“We should bring Aud with us,” Blaine replies. “I think she’d really like it.”

Kurt looks around the beach and imagines being there with a little girl playing in the sand at their feet, and as much as being alone with Blaine feels perfect and necessary there’s a sense of utter rightness in Blaine’s suggestion, too.

He realizes suddenly that he was wrong; he _does_ have this sense of quiet contentment in his life. He might not feel this way for hours and hours at a time, he might not have the luxury to bask in it, but he feels this same wonderful way every day. The second he opens the door to the apartment at night, whether it’s messy or clean, whether Aud is laughing or crying, whether Blaine is smiling his greeting or distracted by work, Kurt still feels this calm, sure joy when the door swings shut behind him and he’s _home_.

It isn’t just Blaine who makes him feel this way, though he’s obviously a large part of it. It’s his family.

And Aud really would love it here, building sandcastles, chasing crabs, and shrieking at the splash of the waves.

“We should,” he agrees, and he’s smiling at his imagined picture of her as he turns them around toward their hotel and the promise of gentle kisses under the waking stars.

 

_Monday, 8:35 am:_

Blaine blinks at the clock on the nightstand and closes his eyes. He smiles to himself, curling more tightly around Kurt because they’re still at the hotel together, just the two of them, it’s so magical to be like this... and then he sits up with a start. Adrenalin races through him, sending his speeding heart up into his throat.

“Kurt!” he says, shaking his husband’s shoulder. They hadn’t thought they’d need to set an alarm, even though they’d been up late snuggling together under a blanket outside, and clearly they should have. “Kurt!”

“I liked it better the morning you blew me awake,” Kurt mutters into the pillow and throws his arm over his face.

Blaine’s mouth waters a little at the memory, but he has absolutely no time to think about it. “The taxi is going to be here in forty-five minutes,” he says and tugs on Kurt’s shoulder again. “We have to pack up and go!”

“Forty-five - “ Kurt jerks upright and nearly bashes his head into Blaine’s nose in the process. He looks at the clock in horror, looks at Blaine, looks at the closet where all of his clothes are still hanging, and then sinks his face into his hands. “Oh my god.”

“We can do it,” Blaine tells him. “We have time. I’ve seen you get dressed for work in less than seven minutes in a pinch. I’ll put on some coffee while you shower.”

Kurt nods into his palms and rubs his eyes before he lifts his head again. “I can’t believe we slept this late.”

“I know.” As much as he’d like to linger, Blaine pushes himself out of bed and toward the coffee machine.

After a second, Kurt follows him. “It figures I’d finally get used to waking up late on the day vacation is over.”

 

_Monday, 9:55 am:_

The train is filled with a crowd of late commuters into the city, busily reading the paper, talking on cell phones, or tapping away on tablets or laptops, and from the corner of his eye Blaine sees how Kurt’s fingers keep straying toward the pocket of his linen jacket where his own phone rests.

“You should check your messages if you want to,” Blaine tells him, nudging his foot. “You’ve been very good about not checking on work while we’ve been away. You don’t have to stop yourself anymore.”

“Maybe in a few minutes,” Kurt says quietly, and his eyes linger on the Long Island scenery blurring past their window. “I want to stay on vacation just a little while longer.”

Blaine smiles at him, leans his shoulder against Kurt’s for a moment, and goes back to reading the local paper he picked up at the station before they left. There’s a review of a local music festival from the weekend before, and he almost wishes they’d come earlier so they could have gone to some of the performances.

But no, he thinks, because this weekend was perfect just the way it was. He wouldn’t change a thing. He’s ready to go back and see Audrey, but he wouldn’t change a second of this time away.

A minute later, Kurt’s hand finds his on his lap and fits its way between his fingers, and they hold onto their vacation and each other as the train rocks its way back toward the city of their dreams.

 

_Monday, 2 pm:_

New York is somehow louder than Kurt remembers, the buildings taller and the smells more pungent, and after a few lazy, sun-filled days at the beach walking down the block toward their apartment feels like being in a different country. No longer are his ears filled with quiet voices and the cries of seagulls; it’s all car horns and music, his nose filled with exhaust and trash left too long in the oppressive summer heat that is reflected between the buildings and the pavement and back again.

He feels hot and sticky beneath his increasingly rumpled clothes, tired from the rushed morning and the rides on the train and subway, already enervated in the way only New York in the summer can do to a person.

And yet as they edge around the dirty mustard sofa one of their neighbors has left on the sidewalk and get to their building, Kurt’s shoulders loosen and drop. His head lifts as Blaine fits his key to the outer lock. His steps actually speed up as they carry their suitcases up the stairs to their floor.

Being away might have been a welcome respite in his busy world, but this is where he belongs. This city in all of its infinite glories and messes, with all of its variations of people, with all of its opportunities and dreams is where he belongs with this man two steps behind, following just as quickly.

This apartment, this one with the door swinging open into a space that is smaller and less elegant than Kurt imagined he’d live in, this is his home.

Blaine drops his suitcase by the bookcase beside the door and looks around as Kurt follows him inside. The light over the stove is on in the kitchen, but the apartment is quiet.

“I thought Rachel said she’d be - “ Blaine begins, looking over his shoulder at Kurt in confusion, but he’s cut off by a loud, wordless, thoroughly excited squeal from down the hallway.

Audrey toddles at full-speed toward them, Rachel following behind her with a smile almost as big as hers, and as Blaine crouches down, his arms open wide for their daughter, Kurt shuts the door, locks it, and goes to join his family.

“Dada!” Audrey says, and Kurt wraps his arms around the two of them, his husband and daughter, and presses his face to her hair with his heart so huge in his chest he can barely breathe around it. The world spins and clicks into place around him.

This feels better than the entire weekend combined.

This, this is where he is meant to be.

This is right. This is it. This is everything.

“We’re home, sweetheart,” Blaine tells Audrey in a choked voice, full of happiness, and Kurt tightens his arm around Blaine’s waist and kisses her warm, soft forehead in agreement, his throat far too full of his own heart for him to be able to speak at all.

They’re _home_.

 

_Friday, 2:35 am:_

Blaine trips on something on the floor, probably a slipper that he didn’t see in the dark - he can’t be sure and doesn’t really care - and falls face-first onto the bed; he tries to slow his tumble with his hands but ends up collapsing with his face buried in his pillow, anyway. It’s a little hard to breathe, but he doesn’t have the energy to roll over.

The rattling and inconsistent air conditioning of their apartment is currently working overtime to make up for how it wasn’t cooling them at all the night before, and he’s cold without the sheet over him. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with that problem, either.

Kurt’s hand smooths down his back, and he says in a sleep-gravelly voice, “I’ll go the next time.”

“Seven times,” Blaine moans into the pillow.

“I know.”

“She’s been up seven times, Kurt.”

Kurt keeps petting him, making him melt into the mattress. “I know.”

Blaine uses the last bit of life that he has left to turn his head to the side, dragging fresh air into his lungs with some relief. He sighs as Kurt curls in to drape his arm over his back and press his forehead against his, the best kind of comfort. “I love her so much, but _seven_ times.”

“Shh,” Kurt whispers back.

Blaine closes his eyes, nudges their noses together, and says with a sleep-filled laugh at himself, already halfway in his dreams, “When do we get to go on another vacation?”

**Author's Note:**

> Now with [art](http://flamingmuse.tumblr.com/post/61036043485/kendrawcandraw-commission-for-flamingmuse)!


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